What dumb ass leaves their medal on the table?

I knew something was wrong as soon as my plane touched down in Orlando at 6:45 AM.  I felt really dizzy and sort of out of it, making it difficult for me to maneuver my way through the unfamiliar airport.

After collecting my bag, I wandered around the airport lost and confused wondering if all I needed was a shot of caffeine to help me focus.  After 45 minutes of riding escalators up and down, up and down pointlessly, I finally found the Magic Express bus to Disney World.  When I boarded the bus, I noticed several families with very excited kids bouncing up and down eager for the fun to begin.  I took a seat in the front row and the bus driver announced it would take 35-minutes to complete the journey to Disney World and the four hotels we needed to stop at.  My hotel was the last stop, and I was in for the long haul.

I started to notice that everyone was complaining about how cold it was, meanwhile, I had beads of sweat rolling down my face as I stripped off layers frantically trying to cool off.  Could I have a fever?  Na…


About five minutes into the drive, my mouth started to water and that oh-so-not-good feeling one gets before they heave their guts out started to take over me.  I quickly scanned the bus wondering what I could throw up in.  Seeing no barf bags, my only option would be my backpack, which housed my laptop and clothes.  I told myself I could not puke in my backpack and I definitely did not want to ruin the other passenger’s trip to Disney World by vomiting in the aisle. 

It was a grueling drive to the hotel with “Yo, Ho, Ho, Ho a Pirate’s Life for Me” blasting over the speakers.  Once in the park, we weaved in and out of palm trees and Ponderosa pines, jolting to abrupt stops at every stop sign.  After what seemed like eternity, the Magical Express from hell arrived at my hotel.  It was about 8 am and I was keeping my fingers crossed they’d let me check in before the 3 pm check in time.  I must have looked fantastic because as soon as I entered the lobby, the hotel concierge took one look at me and very seriously asked, “Do you need me to call 911?”  I told him no, quickly asking where the nearest bathroom was and hastily making my way to it where I proceeded to hug the porcelain god.  Good times are to be had at Disney!

The hotel graciously gave me a room and told me it was very close, just around the lake. They might as well told me to walk back to Juneau because “just around the lake and over the bridge” ended up being a wild goose chase for an incoherent woman who had to stop at every trash bin to dry heave.  I kept on keeping on, knowing I would be rewarded with my very own toilet when I reached the end of my Shackleton-like expedition.  I did see a hammock along the way and was very tempted to crawl inside it and die, but thankfully common sense resounded and told me that wasn’t a very good idea.

I finally made it to my room and proceeded to spend the next several hours lying on the bathroom floor getting up only to puke.   At about 9 PM, I was able to keep some water down and forced myself to eat some “Gu” gel, which was absolutely disgusting, but full of electrolytes my body desperately needed.

I did not raise $4,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and travel over 5,000 miles to sleep on a bathroom floor.  I gave myself a pep talk and promised myself that I would persevere- no matter what. 

I forced myself out of bed at 6 AM the next morning and headed out for the team run and breakfast.  I managed to run the 1.6 miles around the lake and keep up with the group, but I didn’t feel so hot afterwards.  I wanted to puke, and my asthma kicked in pretty seriously which took me by surprise.  I haven’t carried my inhaler on any of my previous runs and here I was, a good 5-minute walk back to my room and inhaler, and I felt like I was going to hyperventilate and pass out.  I clung desperately to a light post and hung on tight as the world spun around me, repeating in my head, “Don’t pass out.  Don’t pass out.” All my teammates avoided me like the plague and ran inside to get their breakfast.  Word had quickly spread about my illness and no one wanted me near them.  Neither did Brock who texted me a lot the previous day to make sure I was still alive, but warned that unless I needed something, he would not be coming by to pay a visit.  I was not offended. 

When I finally felt like I could walk without passing out, I joined my team for breakfast.  To my surprise, the Canadian Flex team joined our US Flex team for breakfast, which meant Brock was already sitting in the room when I stumbled in.  We “air-hugged” each other, keeping a wide distance between us.  He later told me that when I walked in the room, his first thought was, “Oh, that poor woman.  She looks horrible.  Oh wait!  That’s Franny!”  He also told me I looked more like I had cancer now than I did when I actually had it.  Brock really is a nice guy, really, he is.  I just looked (and felt) like crap and there was no way to disguise it.

After eating breakfast I had a bit more energy, so I picked up my bib and joined Brock and his dad at Epcot.  We went on a few of the more gentle rides, which was a good choice since my stomach was still churning from the previous day.

Later in the evening, I attended the Inspiration Dinner for Team in Training.  There were about 1,000 people in attendance, with teams from different states/provinces sitting at tables together.  I attended one a few years back with Brock in Seattle, and let me tell you, they are tearjerkers. 

Don

Runners are encouraged to contribute photos of the individuals they are running for and those photos are included in a slideshow and displayed on two giant screens during the dinner. I had a very hard time looking at the slideshow.  Not all runners are racing in honor of a survivor; many of us run in memory of someone we have lost.  Many of the photos were young and beautiful children and it is really hard to see the words, “In Memory” written above their names.  I concentrated on eating my salad, while desperately trying to avoid seeing my submissions of Don and Wendy because I knew if I saw them, the tears would start to flow.  Of course, I looked up just in time to see Don’s unmistakable smile followed by Wendy’s cowboy hat photo, “IN MEMORY” printed above both their names. 

Wendy

I surprised myself and didn’t cry; instead I smiled and felt nothing but love and encouragement.  Later in the slideshow I saw a picture that Brock submitted unbeknownst to me.  The photo was of us at the Seattle race that he ran in my honor while I was undergoing my radiation.  Bald and fifty pounds heavier than I am now, I was unrecognizable, but my tablemates saw my name and cheered. I admit to getting a bit choked up.

The evening proceeded with keynote speakers, including Ethan Zohn who randomly appeared in one of my November blog post.  What a coincidence!

We learned that collectively, Team in Training raised over $3 million dollars in funds for Leukemia and Lymphoma research for this race alone.  Wow! 

Sadly, only some of the names. Not all are were added at this point 

The evening ended with us decorating our jerseys.  I already had Don and Wendy’s names written on the jersey, but I decided to add the names of a few more of my friends and family who are either survivors or currently going through treatment, as well as my Aunt Pat who died two years ago of Ovarian Cancer.  I felt strength and hope as I wrote the names of Eve, Janice, Marr, Brynn, Geri, Kris, Julia, Penny C., my dad, and Emily.  Right as I finished writing the last name on the shirt, I recieved a message on my phone from a friend telling me she was just diagnosed with cancer that very day. My heart sank knowing she too has a young family and she’s going to be headed into one hell of a battle.  I added a twelfth name and went to bed.

After only 4 hours of sleep, I woke up at 2 am, ate a light breakfast and met my team at 3 am to board the bus to the start line.  The first corral of runners needed to start at 5:30 am, and organizing 27,000 people takes a bit of time, which is why we needed to arrive so early.

Thousands of runners bounced in place as we waited, and waited, and waited.  I stood shivering in my tank top and shorts, envious of all the runners who were smart enough to wear layers.  I hadn’t got the memo (or more likely didn’t read it) that if we wore extra layers, we could discard them along the course and they would get scooped up and donated to charity.  Great planning on my part, novice.

After about 45 minutes of depleting my energy supply by jumping up and down to stay warm, someone offered me a garbage bag to wear as a poncho.  It helped immensely over the course of the next 1-½ hour wait until it was my corral’s turn to prepare to hit the road.  The energy was amazing!  It appeared that all the runners surrounding me had a partner or a group they were running with.  I couldn’t find any of my teammates, so I stood there “alone” with 27,000 other people in my garbage bag dress, enjoying the moment, amazed that I was actually here.

Fireworks lit up the sky as each corral was sent off into the black night. Who needs a “ready, set, go” and a gun when you have fireworks to cue you?

Before I knew it, it was my corral’s turn to go and I ditched my garbage bag and headed out under the fireworks.  It was so dark in some places, people were bumping and crashing into each other, not because it was crowded, but because we could barely see each other. 

I hit play on my iPod and then quickly looked at the GPS app and decided not to time my run.  I told myself I didn’t care what my time was, the fact that two days earlier I was lifeless on the bathroom floor gave me permission to just run at whatever pace I needed to finish. (Which is what I was going to do anyway…)

Physically I did great.  My body held up on me, even though my toes went completely numb at mile 10.  I didn’t have a single pain anywhere on my body throughout the entire run, not even my foot that Yasha bit or my shoulder that I reefed falling down the stairs.  I felt very strong and I was delighted that nothing was failing me, except my lungs. 

After the test run the previously morning, I decided I needed to bring my inhaler with me on race day.  I broke down and bought a geeked-out running belt complete with a spot for my phone/iPod, a water bottle, a few Gu gels, and a special little compartment for my inhaler.  I was so glad I did.  I think the humidity got to me because at mile 8, I felt things getting tight and I started to wheeze.  I grabbed my inhaler and took a few puffs, and it cleared it right up.  I needed to use it again at mile 11.  “Sucks to your assmar!”

Having water and PowerAde offered to me at every mile or so was a novelty for a girl who typically doesn’t carry water while running!  I took advantage of it often, even when I didn’t need it or want it.  The volunteers have a job to uphold and they look at runners dead in the eye as they wearily run past, nearly begging them to take it off their hands, like their lives depend on it.  As a former non-profit director, I love volunteers.  Also, I am a sympathetic sucker. Besides, it’s really fun to throw your cup on the ground when it’s empty.

Disney characters were stationed along the course and many runners stopped for photo ops.  Thinking this would later become incriminating evidence against me, leading Lena and Aurelia to discover that I went to Disney World without them, I just kept running, passing by all the characters.  That, and at some point, I lost the use of my hands and couldn’t remove my camera phone from its pouch.

We ran through the Magic Kingdom, which I haven’t seen since a family trip when I was in 4^th grade.  Visions of that trip came back to me as I ran by vaguely familiar scenes, including the Space Mountain ride, which my brother and I rode back to back several times.

Before I knew it, the sun had come up and I had made it to mile 12 in one piece, with Epcot being the last area to run through.  And then, it was over. 

I received my finisher’s medal and headed to the Team in Training tent to sign in and find Brock.  He smiled and yelled, “Yay Franny!” and gave me a huge hug and told me he was so proud of me.  I admit I had a somewhat flippant attitude because I was on the verge of busting into tears, and acting coy and flippant is my anti-cry device.  

When Brock excitedly asked me how it was, I shrugged and said “fine.” Seriously Frances.  Flipping “Fine?!”  You couldn’t think of anything else to say?  You, a former “non-runner” just ran 13 miles through Disney World a year and a half after receiving cancer treatment, and all you can say is, “fine?”  Coy and flippant= no tears.

"Winter and Summer of Team Awesome"

Brock moved on and asked me what the clock said when I finished and I told him I had no clue. “You didn’t look at it?” he questioned baffled.  “Nope,” I replied.  I’d later come to find out my time was pathetic (which I figured it would be) but, I was very pleased to see that when compared to all the runners, I came in just slightly under the middle of the pack.  Not bad for my first ever half marathon.

I set all my stuff down on a table and finally had the dexterity to remove my phone, while telling Brock we needed to take a photo of the two of us.  After the photo, I collected my belongings and noticed someone had left their medal on the table.  I thought to myself, “What dumb ass would leave their medal on the table?”

Brock and weaved through the hoards to stand in line for our bus to take us back to the hotel.  We chatted about the race and he remarked how huge the medals were.  “Yes!” I agreed, they were huge, and I grabbed mine to take a look and then realized: I was the dumb ass.

Brock and I quickly exchanged panicked looks and once again wove through the hoards, this time a little speedier and we were delighted to discover that after 15 minutes of being abandoned, my medal was still there.

So there you have it folks.  I did it.  I didn’t lose any bodily fluids on the course (except sweat) and I made it all the way, with a smile on my face.  Seriously, I smiled the whole way, with the exception of when someone tossed a full water cup to the curb, only to hit me instead.  Brock said it’s fairly common and just be happy someone didn’t douse me with a snot rocket.

I smiled because I thought of my friends and family who have overcome, are going through, or have lost their battle to cancer.  They have all taught me so much about strength and courage.  In fact, it was through their examples of bravery that gave me the strength and courage I needed to battle my own cancer.  Which by the way- I was diagnosed with exactly 2 years ago tomorrow.  How time flies when you’re busy kickin’ cancer’s ass and training to run a race so we can continue to kick cancer’s ass by funding research for new treatments.

Thank you to all my friends and family for opening your hearts and wallets to donate to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.  Your support of this organization means the world to me.

Thank you to all my friends (especially Cristina) who sent me words of encouragement when I was sick right before the race.   You helped give me the gumption to shake it off.

And lastly, a huge thank you to Brock who has been my cheerleader from afar throughout this past year.  Checking in to see if I was putting in all my training miles (which I rarely did), eating right, taking care of myself and convincing me to do something I would have never thought possible.

I will be there to hug Brock tomorrow as he completes the full marathon in the Goofy Challenge where competitors run the half on Saturday, and the full on Sunday.  Brock has always been a little on the goofy side, which is probably one of the reasons an Alaskan and a Canadian have been able to maintain what is mostly a virtual friendship (with an occasional in-person visit) for 13 years. 

And just so you know Brock, I was pretty stoked about my run.

ready or not

My run is in four days, and I leave tomorrow to fly to Florida (gulp.) For as much as I’ve anticipated it, it has sort of snuck up on me.


People keep asking me if I’m excited for my run. My typical answer is, “yeah” or “sure” and I rarely say it with enthusiasm. I need to clarify that I am super stoked that I raised $4,150 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society thanks to my awesome friends and family. I am also honored to run in memory of Don and Wendy. And, I'm not afraid of running 13 miles as I know I have the right mentality and strength to do it. (Though, I did take a nasty spill down a flight of stairs yesterday tweaking my shoulder to the point I can’t lift my left arm. It will heal by Saturday, right?)


So if it’s not the run that is contributing to my lackluster mood, what is it? Here’s the answer- I’m going to Disney World without my girls, and that totally stinks. 

I’m not a Disney fan. There, I admitted it. I’m not into big crowds, waiting in lines, or commercialized fanfare. And I’m definitely not into princesses. But, I have a four year old who is into them. Lena loves all the princesses, with Cinderella being her favorite. She knows which dress belongs to which princess. She can tell you which princesses fall asleep due to spells and curses, only to be awoken by their prince charming. She can also tell their castles apart and knows which of them have wicked stepmothers. My house has metamorphosed into a pink fairytale and I have been dragged through cotton candy-like muck to the point of submission. I recently accepted it because I finally realized what drives Lena’s passion to become a princess when she grows up. It’s not the gowns or big castles, though she is a mini-fashionista and did ask for her own Kingdom for Christmas. No, Lena is not driven by the glam of it. Lena wants to be a princess because she still believes in magic, and that when you wish upon a star, your dreams can come true. I see nothing wrong with having those thoughts at age four, and I’m willing to nurture it as long as she has hope.


Aurelia is a different story. She absorbs it all with skepticism and intrigue. I think the only reason she puts on a princess gown every now and then is because her big sister is doing it. Lately, her dress-up clothes of choice are a cape and swim goggles- and nothing else. With that said, Aurelia would have fed off Lena’s wonderment of Disney World. When Lena gets excited, Aurelia gets amused and happy herself.


Even though Disney is not my thing, I would have loved to see both my girls bursting with happiness in the Magic Kingdom. I also would have liked nothing more than to give them big hugs after crossing the finish line.


I shared my sadness about the girls with Brock and he quickly replied, “But I will be there to give you a big hug!” Yes. Brock will indeed be there and I can’t think of any friend I’d rather have greet me at the finish line than him. If it weren’t for Brock, I wouldn’t be doing this in the first place. I also happen to know that Brock has a “thing” for Disney, which I’ve never quite understood because he just doesn’t seem like the Disney type of guy. You would never know by looking at this running coach/rockin’ musician/web developer that he is a closet Disney fan who transforms into a kid once he crosses through the park gates. I have a feeling Brock will be just as bouncy as Lena, dragging me ride to ride- though he probably won’t hyperventilate upon seeing Cinderella.


So, yes, I am super pumped to hang with Brock and get a hug from him at the end of the race, but he’s still not my girls. 


It’s more than the hug. What it boils down to is I wanted the girls to see me cross the finish line. I wanted them to see me strong and healthy as I finished with thousands of other runners.


During the year I had cancer, Lena saw me sick on the couch more times than I’d like to recall. She was attuned to my illness, way more than any three year old should be. She would lay in bed with me and snuggle on my chemo days, watching movies while I drifted in and out of consciousness. She held my hand when I got my home Neupogen shots telling me, “This won’t hurt a bit mommy.” I know I’ve been healthy over a year, and I know Lena is aware I’m no longer sick. But deep down, I wanted Lena to be there so she could see me strong and healthy, hoping that would overpower any lasting memories she has of me being sick and feeble. 


My purple Team in Training race jersey came in the mail the other day. After pulling it from the package, I tossed it on the counter and began to mash avocados in a bowl for my starving children to feast on (and fill up on) before dinner.

My Support Crew

Lena responds to the color purple like sharks respond to the faintest tint of blood in the water. Upon seeing the purple haze in fabric form, Lena started salivating. She inquired about the beautiful garment that just arrived in the mail, and if perhaps, she could wear it. To Lena’s surprise, I told her “sure,” hardly looking up as I chopped onions. As soon as Lena pulled the jersey over her head, Aurelia starting chiming in, “Me too! Me too!” It was apparent Lena would have to share the jersey, so I set the timer (the sharing monitor in my house) and told Lena when it dings, it’s Reya’s turn to wear it. The timer got reset several times as the girls swapped the jersey back and forth while I made dinner. They happily munched on greasy tortilla chips and guacamole- using my jersey as their napkin of choice. The jersey was smeared with smashed avocado and salty grease spots. At first I started to grumble, telling them they know to use a napkin and not their, or in this case, “my” clothes, as a napkin. But then I realized, who cares! Having their greasy fingerprints all over my jersey means a part of them will be with me during my race.


Yesterday, I watched happily as the girls dipped their hands in paint and leave their permanent mark on my jersey.  They may not be there physically, but their presence will be felt.  Lena put it well when she said, “When you put on your shirt, Reya and I will be in your heart.”  I finished off the shirt by writing Don and Wendy’s name on the back in bold letters.  I may be running the race in Don and Wendy’s memory, but I’ve also come to realize, I’m running it for my girls who watched their mother fight and beat cancer.  They may not be there to see me cross the finish line, but I know that I will have opportunities to show them on a daily basis that they come from strong stock.