Marathon Drop Out- No Shiny Medal For You... (to the tune of "Beauty School Dropout")

Yesterday, I had one of those runs that no runner wants to have— I dropped out of a race.  No one ever trains; pays registration; wakes up early all to drop out of a race. There are a myriad of reasons why a runner may do this, but I guarantee that odds are if you do this once, no matter what the distance, you’ll likely never do it again. If you were sick, you may tell yourself that you will never race while sick again and if you got injured, you may say, I’ll train smarter. Sometimes these dropouts come out of the blue and no matter what you do, it can’t be avoided…. A spectator crosses into you causing you to tumble over; a twisted ankle; etc.  Yesterday marked my 8^th long-distance run in the three years I’ve been long distance running, and every race I’ve seen a runner hobbled on the side of the course… yesterday, it was me who pulled out. We all have our reasons for dropping out, and even if it is sensible to others, to us, it is the end of the world.

But, Sunday was a learning experience.

Part of the NF Endurance Team
walking to raise money...

I had been diligent with training, so much so that six months after brain surgery, I was able to do a half-marathon. Did it hurt? Sure, but I did it... But yesterday showed me that each race is different.  The summer was very difficult, with 90+ heat after work and the weight of a suggested second brain surgery for this fall, staying in marathon shape was more difficult than I could have imagined. Thinking about the ICU, and the slow rehabilitation runs and how my neck hurt from longer runs because the muscles had been sliced apart…. This idea alone messed with my training more than the surgery itself. Training, really training and doing 20-40 miles a week was something I wasn’t emotionally equipped to do. Despite the poor training, I was going to take the opportunity to walk with the NF Endurance team and spend the whole 13.1 miles supporting friends doing their first half-marathon and getting to know each other more while raising money for the little-known condition, neurofibromatosis.  Having missed them at the start and then not being able to find them at mile 1.5 on the back portion of the out and back- facing 13.1 miles alone was daunting at best.

Fall started blowing into Los Angeles recently, training didn’t seem so difficult with cooler temperatures. Little things like my running GPS dying did not bother me, nor did the unconventional work hours. I had a rollercoaster summer, but made it through August and September with no surgery and two surgeons telling me to stay far away from the O.R. These small setbacks were not going to get me down… I’m training like it was my first marathon again. The only difference is- Now I know how much work it takes and I know how terrible the wall feels.  Even though some weeks were tough on my training schedule and I’ve been repeating them, I knew getting back to where I was would take some effort since I allowed one opinion of “You must have surgery” to scare me into nearly a nearly static life.

I’m sure this residual brain tumor will take me on a rollercoaster for the rest of my life, I just have to mentally prepare and remember that I should just keep doing what I love doing.  Even though I have been better about training, I need to take Sunday’s setback of dropping out of a race and use it like most of my setbacks and let it springboard me into something better.

It seems that there’s no point in having setbacks if you don’t learn from them to be a better you. August taught me to just stick with it and push forward and the Long Beach Half Marathon taught me to train smarter. Together- training, along with friends and prayer, will push me to my next race February 19, the Inaugural Rock n Roll Half Marathon in Pasadena. 

I feel like I’ve gone a couple rounds with Tyson

I feel like I’ve gone a couple rounds with Tyson. 

During hiatus, I flew to Connecticut to see my family and throw my very-pregnant sister a baby shower.  Following my time, the plan was to fly to San Diego see my brain-tumor specialist/lead doctor and the neuro-surgeon vetted by him so we could plan for surgery. Following the meetings, we’d drive back to Los Angeles so I could go to work.

Anticipating surgery, we looked into UCSD housing for patients and families. Everything was going according to plan. I met with my lead-doctor and the next day met the new neuro-surgeon. During my meeting with this very fancy surgeon, we got news that rocked our world. The surgeon said, “I don’t want to do surgery.” THIS IS THE HEAD OF THE NEUROSURGERY DEPARTMENT! He elaborated that StereotacticRadio Surgery (SRS) was the way to go with this type of tumor.  He was afraid of hurting me further with another craniotomy, spilling cells, etc...

Now, rather than messing up the second half of my hiatus, I had to miss work on account of this blasted tumor. I phoned my very understanding bosses to let them know I was going to miss work while the superb nurse practioner strong-armed the radiation surgeon to see me the next day. SRS is a great type of surgery for those with NF2, but there is little evidence for those with NF1. (I have been told in the past, radio surgery or any type of radiation could turn me into the toxic avenger.) Now, it was time for more research to find the merits/drawbacks of SRS. We enlisted family, friends and whomever we could bring on as allies.  The search involved experts from Boston, to Baltimore, to Los Angeles and everywhere in between. While getting knocked around this whole, I feel like I became Pac-Man, gobbling up as much information as I could and asking for more.  (I’m still at the asking for more point.)

We were not fully on board with radiation, but we tried to embrace this concept. Serendipity struck when we ran into my lead doctor in the parking lot at the Radiation Center. He was as shocked as we were that I had a visit.

We embraced this new procedure as much as we could. Here we were, putting our faith in one paper that touted the merits of SRS on patients with NF1 when we got a call from Baltimore.  DO NOTHING AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT GET RADIATION. She talked about her three patients- all were like me and all didn’t fare well with radiation to the point where there health was worse for it.  You could not deny her very definite opinion, but the Brain Tumor board still had to meet to discuss my case. I was numb. I did not want to get happy or sad until I had the final meeting with my lead doctor after the Brain Tumor Board meeting.

Despite the plan to get eight hours of sleep, the sleep I got this whole week has not been restful. It’s been tough to trust the papers and tough to wade through all the studies done. My lead-doctor quipped that I “went on an email blitz.” But, that’s what you have to do- I want to make sure everyone is talking and giving me as much information as possible so I can make an informed decision.  

After getting knocked around this week, the Brain Tumor board came back, and the result is still the same as it was in February and then June. DO NOTHING. Come back in 3-4 months, and we’ll see.  I’m breathing a bit easier, but I don’t feel comfortable taking breaths of ease

Interestingly enough, I grabbed one of my Runner’s World magazines before heading out the door- “RUNNING WITH CANCER.” My bloody tumor is not cancer, but I still have a foreign object in my head, and I still have to fight. The runners profiled had to get on chemo, or radiation, or lose a limb. We all have our hurdles to deal with as runners and non-runners. Running has certainly helped me before I began this journey in December, and I know it will help me as I continue down the road of MRIs and doctor’s visits. 

The small town I grew up in does a marathon every year. It isn’t your standard loop and it’s not a point-to-point course like Boston… It is a several mile loop that you repeat until you’re done with 26.2 miles. One friend suggested I make that one of my next races. Who knows, I might. The town has been very worried, and after Hurricane Irene has blown through, my sister is anticipating driving around to tell them that it was a false alarm by a vey well-intention doctor. Right now, I have two half marathons on the horizon, one with the NF Endurance Team and other in February with friends. While there will be good and bad days with this tumor, there will be good and bad days with my training.  I just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other and move forward.

I love the Smell of Expo (in the morning) - A look at the weekend of May 14 & 15

If you’ve never gone to an Expo before a race, I’d recommend it to see what you’re missing, and if you’ve gone you know what I’m talking about. 

Member of Team Ray at the Children's
Tumor Foundation walk

Despite running the Malibu a half-marathon one-month before surgery, Saturday was my first expo in nearly a year. The Expo at the Malibu Marathon consists of a couple vendor tents set up next to the beach and a few folk passing out bibs and timing chips. The Expo prior to the Pasadena Marathon series didn’t smell like salty ocean air— It smelled like Expo, combination of Tiger Balm and Ben Gay. It was more ritualistic like other expos: Walk to the wall and look up your bib number, check in and get your bib, packet & D-tag, then walking up and down the rows of vendors. Doing all this made me feel even more like I’m back.

The Expo makes me hungry to eat the road for breakfast tomorrow, even if it is going to go down at a much slower pace than what I was once training at.  Nonetheless, I realize that I have to stop comparing running speeds I had when I first started running and after I was running consistently to today. I need to keep just looking forward to the next mile.

I feel like I’m finally getting healthy….

Yes, I’m working 40+ hours a week.

Yes, I’m running 15 miles or more each week.

Yes, It’s not brain cancer; it’s just a tumor.

But this, this is the picture of health- smelling crippled runners getting to put their toes to the starting line and push their bodies to do their best.

Storm Troopers at the CTF Walk-
A good reason to walk fast!

And this weekend was not about running- it was about enjoying the company of fellow athletes on a journey. Saturday, I did a 5k walk with the Children’s Tumor Foundation (CTF) and ended up walking with a friend from the NF Endurance Team.  After this, I went to the expo to pick up my bib and race packet for Sunday’s Pasadena Marathon series.

Sunday, I took the to the road with my running buddy and his girlfriend and we raced to raise money & awareness of Celiac Disease. And here, again you can see the indomitable spirit of the runner… she was training to RUN this as her first official 5k, but she had a cold for several weeks that she couldn’t shake. Still, she trained. And, it wouldn’t be the Pasadena Marathon if it weren’t raining… We huddled in the dry as long as we could before we put our toes to the starting line to see what we could do.