My Life Coach

As I’ve mentioned before, I am training for my run with the “Flex Team” for Team in Training. That means that there isn’t a team based in Juneau who is running in the Disney Marathon weekend. As far as I know, it’s just me. My “team” is located all over the nation and we communicate over e-mail. I admit; it’s been a drag. I have a coach, but he doesn’t check in with me personally unless I ask him a question.

Aside from having access to an on-location coach, there are other benefits to training with a team physically located in your town.

One of the things teams do prior to going out for runs is to talk about why they are running with Team in Training. It’s not the, “I wanted to prove to myself that at 40 I could run a marathon” kind of testimonial one might expect. Instead the runners tell heartbreaking stories of friends and family they have known who have survived cancer, or who have lost their battle. These stories inspire the runners prior to going out for the team run.

Obviously, as a solo runner in Juneau, I don’t get to tell the stories about why I’m running and who I’m running for, though I do think about my reasons all the time while I’m out.

I’m not running to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I’m running for the people I have lost to cancer- Don, Wendy, and my Aunt Pat. I’m running it to raise money in their honor for cancer research so that we can prevent losing our loved ones in the future. In previous blogs, I’ve talked about my Aunt Pat and Wendy, but I haven’t said much about my friend and mentor Don Goffinet

Growing up, Don was my parent’s friend, so he was more of a father figure to me than a friend. An amazing carpenter and wood worker, Don worked as a shop teacher at the High School in Ketchikan. When the wood particles started causing health problems, he became the swim coach.

My family spent nearly every Thanksgiving at Don’s beautiful log house out on Susan Point Road. I remember being out at his house a lot during cold winter nights, sitting in the wood fired hot tub he built and gazing up at the stars. I saw many shooting stars on those clear winter nights, and it was Don who taught me how to wish on them.

When I was about six, my parents asked Don to be my legal guardian in case they ever bit the dust. Don agreed and mom and dad told me their decision. It wasn’t morbid or gloomy; it actually just made me realize that Don was very special to my family, but I already knew that.

A lot of thought goes into who you would want to raise your children if you were to pass. Most commonly, one turns to family, naming their brother or sister as legal guardians. Others turn to people they admire or who they think would raise their child the way they would have raised them. Or less likely, they match their child with an adult who they think is like their kid or who has the same interests as their child, which I’m pretty sure is why I was paired with Don.

Don had a sense of adventure. He loved the outdoors and spent most his free time hiking, kayaking and biking around Alaska and the world. He had a passion for good food and music and I’d say he was a semi-environmentalist and a borderline hippy. He lived in Carhartts and Patagonia and had every piece of gear imaginable including fold up kayaks that he traveled around the world with.

It’s not that my parents don’t appreciate or encompass these traits to a certain degree, but it’s definitely not how I would define them. Dad is a rugged and hard working commercial fishermen and mom is a homemaker who also worked on the boat with my father. Up until a few years ago, the only travel they did was just to go visit family and attend Fish Expo in the lower 48. I’ve never seen either of them on a bike, and dad really only hikes with a gun- while deer hunting. Dad has joined me several times on paddles, but mom prefers a skiff.

Then there’s me. There's a reason I always believed my brother when he said I was adopted. I was like no one in my family. I started a recycling club in high school, I joined the Tongass Conservation Council while my father was logging trees, I refused to get my license until I was forced to at 18 because I could “bike everywhere I needed to go,” I hung out with the arts crowd and drank coffee and sang at the Monthly Grind, I put my kayak overboard nearly every time we dropped anchor while fishing, and I ate hippy food at the 5 Star Café. I spent all my hard earned fishing money on gear, and I’m not talking about fishing gear.

I was like Don, and my parents knew it, even when I was six.

When I graduated from high school, Don came to my house the night before I left for college. He handed me an envelope with a card inside. The card was not your typical graduation card with pictures of mortarboards and confetti. It had a picture of a tent. Inside was a large sum of money, and in Don’s handwriting, “Don’t spend this on books, spend it on an adventure.” I knew exactly what Don meant.

Growing up, Don always told me that the most important education I could receive was just immersing myself into the world and learning from it. Don was an avid traveler. He didn’t just breeze through towns, he lived in them. He would find jobs like sheering sheep in New Zealand where he worked side by side with locals learning about them and their culture. He camped and stayed in hostels, even though he could probably afford fancy hotels. He sent me postcards from all over the world, which only planted the seed deeper in my gut for my urge to get out, explore and learn.

When I graduated from college, I wasn’t quite sure where to go next. I had immediate plans to backpack through Europe with my friend Penny and then I was going to stay in Amsterdam where I had secured an internship with a non-profit which was going to be my big adventure post college. A week before I left for Europe, my internship fell through and I didn’t know what to do. My mom was with me when I found out and I told her my dilemma. She told me to just come back to Ketchikan, but I wasn’t ready to do that yet. I knew I needed my adventure, I needed to immerse myself into a situation where I felt completely uncomfortable and learn from it. I got out my atlas and opened it to the US. I had my mom hold the atlas open and I closed my eyes, did a few spins and stuck my finger on the map like an adult version of pin the tail on the donkey. Before I opened my eyes I told myself I was going to move to wherever my finger landed. My finger landed on Metairie, Louisiana on Highway 10 between New Orleans and Baton Rouge. I chose Baton Rouge and moved there a few weeks after returning from Europe.

I had two jobs in Baton Rouge. The first was at southern version of REI where I sold kayaks, hiking gear, and oddly enough- ski gear. I was the top salesperson selling ski gear, which is absolutely hilarious since I’ve only been skiing once in my life. The other job was working at a hockey store where I spent my days on rollerblades maneuvering around racks of equipment and shooting pucks into a net. Let’s just say there wasn’t much of a market for hockey gear in Baton Rouge.

Funny side note about the hockey store- The manager of the store was stealing from it and giving a lot of gear to his friends. Lots of money was leaving the store and I felt I needed to say something to the owner. After review of the video surveillance camera, the manager was fired and the owner called me into his office. He thanked me for being honest and said that after viewing the security video; he realized that he had a crook working for him, and a girl who had good puck handling skills. (gulp.)

Working for the outdoor store and the hockey store was great because it fed two of my passions- outdoors and hockey. I made $4.75/hour at both my jobs, but it was worth it because of the incredible employee discounts! Before I left Louisiana, I filled my car with new skates, several hockey sticks, three backpacks, two tents, two sleeping bags, two camp stoves, two headlamps, two sleeping pads, tons of Patagonia and Mountain Hardware clothes, three new pairs of hiking boots for different types of hiking, a new paddle, a Yakima roof rack system worth my than my car designed to hold two bikes and two kayaks, and a bright red 16 foot kayak that I named “Rouge.”

I vividly remember driving my 88’ Accord off the ferry in Ketchikan and pulling up into my parent’s driveway, my car bottoming out as I tore up the gravel leading to the house. My dad stepped out of his shop in his coveralls and his jaw dropped and he threw his hands up in the air- he saw what was in and on my car and it wasn’t me! My dad didn’t say much to me for about a week. He was upset because a few months earlier, I had to call and ask for help paying my rent, I was after all only making $4.75/hour. Yet, somehow I managed to cram thousands of dollars worth of “gear” into and on top of my car. Granted, some of the things my brother purchased utilizing my discount, but the majority of it was mine.

Don came to visit me after I returned from my Southern adventure and wanted to hear all about the people, my experiences, kayaking with the alligators in the swamps and bayous, my drives across the country, hiking in Mississippi, camping on the beaches in Alabama, being forced into a gown and attending a Mardi Gras ball, and learning how to properly say, “Ya’all.” I remember my dad finishing my adventure story complaining about all the crap I came home with. Don smiled his trademark smile and his eyes twinkled like only Don’s could do and he just laughed. He laughed. He got it. He got me.

Don lived his life to the absolute fullest. He taught me it was okay to find more value in spending time outdoors than in a classroom. He taught me the memory of sleeping in a train station in Brussels is way better than any 5-star hotel. I’ll always remember sleeping on a park bench outside Notre Dame and waking up to the sounds and smells of Paris, and the people looking at what they thought was a homeless girl with a terrible sunburn. But I can’t remember the smells of the 5-star hotel I stayed at in Baltimore Harbor. I can’t tell you a thing about it, not even the name, other than the fact that I stayed there because a good friend was getting married.

Don died a few years ago after a very short battle with pre-leukemia. I can’t stand the thought of strong, invincible, and adventurous Don in a hospital bed, nonetheless dying in one. I expected him to go out like Steve Irwin after being stung by a stingray while swimming. I’ve never fully accepted his death. I like to picture him off roaming the planet; I just don’t get postcards in the mail from him.

He will be with me on race day. Don's been my coach throughout my entire training. I already imagine him pushing me from behind and telling me encouraging words when I start to slow down. Just like he used to do when we’d go out for long bike rides along Tongass Highway or for paddles with a headwind in Clarence Straits. I can see his smile through his bushy beard and hear his laugh telling me hurry up. Just like I can hear Wendy laughing at me and saying, “What the hell are you doing this for? You’re crazy Franny Pooh!”

They will all be with me. Just like the thousands of others that will be with the other runners.

And, I've reached 10

I recently spent a week in Washington DC at the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention conference. The conference was incredibly intense hearing from keynote speakers Elizabeth Smart, Dr. Jill Biden, Attorney General Eric Holder, and several others. I was hoping for daily reprieves from the conference where I could go into the city and spend some time in my old stomping grounds. Before I left, I had visions of running through Rock Creek Park, meandering around Foggy Bottom/GWU, eating my way around Dupont Circle and of course catching up with friends and family. However, the conference location was so isolated from the city it was next to impossible to get to the city. It was close, but the transportation situation was ridiculous. I now know how the prisoners of Alcatraz felt being able to see the glistening lights of San Francisco, but only being able to reach it by risking their life in shark infested waters with deadly swift currents. The Green Line on the Metro at night is a close comparison and I wasn’t about to risk it. So, I mostly stayed in the convention center.

It wasn’t all that bad. On Thursday night my cousin Aida and her husband Cesar picked me up at Union Station and took me to a lovely dinner at Central where we dined on frog’s legs, a Spanish prosciutto sample tray and mussels steamed in chorizo and wine sauce. On Friday, I got done early and rode the metro to Foggy Bottom and then walked up Wisconsin Avenue to my old row house in Georgetown. I met up with Ketchikan friends Geri and Chandra and had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants- Famous Luigi’s where I had spent my birthday dinner with my parents 10 years and 1 day ago.

Needless to say, I didn’t get any running in while in DC. Well, I did try. On the first morning, I attempted to run on the treadmill in the hotel’s gym, but I got overheated after a mile and nearly passed out. Upon return to my room at 6:30 AM, I discovered my room key quit working and I was locked out. After several trips in sweaty workout clothes between my room and the front desk separated by a mile (with security in tow), I got pissed and gave up on the whole idea- for the rest of the week. Instead choosing to dine on cheap take out and expensive beer in my room for the remainder of most nights.

A week later when I got home, my running didn’t improve. Aurelia got really sick and my scheduled runs just didn’t happen. Needless to say, I was dreading my 9 miles I had to run on Saturday. I love running, but when I’ve had a two-week break, nine miles can be intimidating.

After a late night of wine and good conversation with friends, I woke up on Saturday dreading the run even more. But, I knew it had to be done, and I also knew I’d be happy as soon as my feet touched the road. I set my iPod and hit the pavement. The run was shaky at first. Mostly because I chugged a giant glass of grapefruit juice right before I headed out the door, which has now gone down in my "Frances' Rules of Running Handbook" as a big "no-no." Somewhere between mile 3 and 4, a car approached me on the highway, slowed down and pulled up next to me. It was my doctor, Sharon Fisher. She was the person who discovered my cancer by noticing a lump on my neck while sitting across the room from me. She called for tests for two months not giving up until they found out what was wrong with me.

Sharon rolled down her window and started clapping and cheering filling her car with such a cheer section I could have sworn there was a cheerleading squad in the back seat. I smiled and waved and kept running. As she drove away I was filled with so much happiness that I wanted to jump up and down and dance. Instead I ran faster, and faster. Then I started thinking about the impact Sharon’s had on my life the past two years, and how she has been such a cheerleader for me in so many ways. My eyes started to fill with tears and I suddenly found it hard to breath. My eyes were blurry making it hard to see where I was going and my lungs were heavy. I had to slow down and resume my snail pace and get my emotions in check.

Then, it happened. There have always been two strange omen-like happenings that have always occurred in my life. The first is thinking I’ve seen a friend in a random public setting like a grocery store, approaching that “friend” to say hello and then getting closer and realizing that the person I thought was my friend, is a complete stranger. Seconds later, I’ll go down a different aisle or turn a corner and there really is the friend I thought I had just seen moments earlier. It happens so much to me; it’s freaky. The other strange happening has to do with music. I sometimes feel like I have a personal deejay following me around playing the soundtrack to the movie of my life. After my first chemo session in Seattle, I wandered around downtown high as a kite until I found a hair salon and went in asking them to cut 12 inches off my hair and dye it purple. As the lady started to make the first cut the Indigo Girls song “Secure Yourself” came on the radio. The first lyrics are, “Secure yourself to heaven, hold on tight the night has come, fasten up your earthly burdens, you have just begun.” I mean seriously? I just had my first chemo session with 11 more to go and this song started playing?

Right after I saw Sharon and was attempting to recover, a song came on my iPod that I hadn’t heard for awhile. I admit, it’s cheese ball pop music, but it’s the song “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield. I first heard it last July when I got done with my radiation and it really spoke to me. I knew that I had been given a second chance at my life and I couldn’t waste it on uncertainty or being unhappy. Change was only going to happen if I made it happen. The song has a chorus that says, “Feel the rain on your skin, no one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in….” I kid you not, on my run when that chorus kicked in, the sky turned black and a downpour hit me hard. I know, a downpour in Juneau cannot be linked to an omen or weird sign since it happens all the time, but I will say when that rain hit my skin and I looked up at the sky with a huge smile on my face, at that moment, I decided to run 10 miles instead of 9. There might have even been some hands thrown up happily towards the sky as I leapt forward in giant strides. Who knows, there was no one there to see it except me.

E-mails from the Dead- A good reminder to CTFO

We all get spam in our e-mail, it’s unavoidable. Whether it’s Abu Kareem Muhammad telling you that the government of Egypt has found an error in their bookkeeping and if you just e-mail him your full name, social security number, mother’s maiden name and that oh so important bank account number, they will be happy to place 10 MILLION US dollars in your account. There’s also the “Enl@rge your P@ckage” or “FREE V$AGRA for YOU” e-mails telling you all your wildest dreams will come true once you click this link to buy wonder pills. Last but not least are the e-mails you get from your actual friends telling you they are stuck in Paris because someone robbed them at knife-point, stole their money, passport and return airline ticket. They need YOUR help to get home, so hurry up and provide your bank account number so they can get money wired to their account. Your first reaction is “Holy crap! I need to help them!” But then you start wondering why they said, “Dear Field” instead of “Dear Frances” (because you thought you were on a first name basis with your mother.) It also gets you wondering how you saw your friend yesterday at Foodland, and in less than 24 hours, they have somehow managed to fly to Paris and get mugged at knifepoint. On a side note- this did recently happen to my friends Arlo and Oksana on a beach in Zanzibar. A man jumped out of the jungle and attempted to rob them at machete-point. At rusty machete point. Thank goodness my friend Oksana has lungs on her like a crazed Banshee because her shrieking alone sent the man running back into the jungle afraid of what she might do next. To read their story, go here: Zanzibar is Dangerous.

At any rate, we expect these spam e-mails and we all know what to do- TRASH/DELETE. We get them from strangers and we get them from our friends whose e-mails have been compromised. But who we don’t expect to get them from are our friends who are dead.

My friend Wendy has been dead over a year now and you can imagine my surprise when I woke up one morning and found an e-mail from her waiting in my inbox. The title was something like, “Whatz up!?” which is something Wendy would have said. She was one of those “texters” who used the number 2 instead of writing too or to. She added z’s to words instead of apostrophe “s” and she did the acronyms “LOL”, “BRB”, “TMI”, “TTYL” and the dreaded, “:)” But Wendy usually did the one with the tongue hanging out. ":-P" If you’ve ever texted me, you know I never use them and they drive me absolutely crazy.

I looked at the e-mail sitting in my inbox and eventually found myself opening it. In the e-mail, she told me how she recently tried this cool new product and wanted me to try it too- just click the link. Once again, this is something Wendy would have sent me an e-mail about. I told myself it was a hoax because if it really were Wendy, she would have signed the e-mail “Ydnew” which is what I called her and she would have addressed me as “Secnarf.” Ha! It’s a fake! And then reality set in and I thought to myself, of course it’s a fake. Wendy died, she is gone and wherever she is, I doubt she has a connection to the internet.

Then I got pissed.

I got even more pissed when it happened a few weeks later, and then every week after that. Eventually, my anger started to diminish because I realized that Wendy took great pride in annoying me. She was a pro at it and knew exactly what it took to get under my skin. When I was president of the recycling club, she would throw trash out the window of her car as she drove by me- and smile at me. She made fun of me while I ate my Red Hot Blues and Reed’s Organic Ginger Beer as she mowed down on Funyuns and Pepsi. She used phrases that made me grit my teeth. She also made fun of me in school when I annoyingly had answer to everything and always had my work done. We were friends, good friends, but we were very opposite and she annoyed the living hell out of me most the time. I didn’t realize it until after she died that her constant jabbing of me was her way of telling me to lighten up and to stop being so damn serious all the time.

I got an e-mail again from her this morning and it brought a big smile to my face. Since Wendy knew she wasn’t going to make it, I like to imagine her coercing one of the nurses at the hospital to send me annoying e-mails every few weeks just to piss me off and to remind me that life is too short and not to take things too seriously.

Ballet with a side of Running

I had an awesome day today. The day started off quite rainy and miserable and I was dreading my scheduled six mile run in the rain, but I knew it had to be done.

Before my run, it was ballet class for Lena. It was “parent visit day” which meant I got to watch Lena strut her stuff and show off what she’s learned. Throughout class, Lena was a chatterbox and had to comment about everything. I nearly died when the early 20-something year old teacher told the students they can roll onto their backs, but she was just going to go part way down. Lena loudly exclaimed in front of the whole class and their parents, “That’s because you’re old and you’ll hurt yourself.” I wanted to crawl under the chair I was sitting on.

With as chatty as she is, she obviously has been paying attention. This is her 2nd year in ballet and I am so impressed by the grace and form she possesses while dancing. When it came time for the class to demonstrate five positions, I was amazed at her concentration. I also learned that three students in her class will be chosen to be the “baby mice” in the Nutcracker this December. I asked Lena if she wanted to be one and she said, “I was a mouse last year for Halloween, so nah, not really.”

After ballet we came home, made some grilled cheese sandwiches and then I headed out for my run with an old Haines compadre Kelly. Kelly took over the fair after I left and did an excellent job managing it. She and her husband recently left Haines and moved to Juneau. (We are starting a trend where ex fair directors take exile in Juneau after running the fair.) Kelly is a runner, and I mean, she is a RUNNER. She has run the Golden Circle (Skagway to Haines) twice. That’s 360 miles, and she ran it in 12 days at 30-40 miles a day. She’s also participated in 50 mile runs, countless marathons and she was supposed to run a 100 miler last week, but couldn’t get the time off work. I was fully prepared for her to kick my sorry ass.

Kelly suggested we run the Herbert Glacier trail which I was very excited about for two reasons. One, I’ve never been on the trail and two, I’ve only been doing road running and I was very eager to get out on some soft ground and away from traffic. The run to the base of the glacier is about 4.5 miles. I only needed to run six, but having never been to the base of the glacier, Kelly suggested we push on, and we did. We walked some, but mostly we ran and it felt so good! The rain stopped and the sun came out creating spectacular beams of sunlight creeping through the mossy forest. Kelly was a great running partner. We talked about the fair, living in Haines, running, and about life in general. Overall, we put in over 8 miles and I am happy to report, it didn’t kill me and I don’t hurt. I can’t wait to go running with Kelly again!

The day ended with a birthday party for my friend Karl at Bullwinkle’s. I gorged on taco pizza and popcorn and watched the girls shoot animals on a video game. For a ballerina, Lena sure knows how to take down a moose.

Forward Momentum

It’s been raining a lot in Juneau and I’m approaching what has typically been a crappy time of year for me given my past two falls. I’ve always had mixed feelings about fall in Alaska because it’s cold, wet, windy and getting darker by the second. People start to develop symptoms of SAD and unless they are spending time under a sunlamp or remember to take their daily dose of Vitamin D, the general mood is fairly gloomy and people sit around and bitch about the fact that we really didn’t have much of a summer. On the upside, people are running around like squirrels getting ready for winter be it hunting deer, getting wood or packing the last bits of summer into canning jars.

Yesterday was the first big storm of the season. Trees were falling, buildings were shaking and as my office mate next to me said he thought he was getting seasick from our building swaying, I couldn’t help but think of the storms I’ve been through on my father’s boat the Towego. The Towego is a very seaworthy boat with a broad bow made of steel that hits waves head on with a thud. I remember a particular drive to Cape Fox through Dixon Entrance where I was standing in the wheel house with my dad watching each approaching wave. The muscles in my body would flex as if I were the one going up against the wave. As the wave hit the bow, I would thrust my body forward, pushing against the dash as if my weight would somehow make a difference in slicing through the wave. The Towego didn’t need my psychological willpower. When faced with head on waves, she slammed into them coolly and calmly taking each one head on. Sometimes she shuddered under the pressure and ever so slightly paused, but she always managed to keep moving forward. My dad’s boat, the Trish was a seaworthy boat too. My dad spent late and cold nights at Sunny Point Cannery during the winter months building his dream with his own two hands. It was after a halibut derby opening that dad was headed down Clarence Straits, bucking up against head on waves when a rogue wave came out of nowhere and engulfed the stern. Within seconds the boat rolled and started to sink. Because I have the most kick ass father in the world who swam around like a superhero kicking out windows under water with his bare feet and diving through jungles of tangled ropes, everyone got off the boat alive. But, the boat was never recovered and sits at the bottom of Clarence Straits to this day.

I also couldn’t help but think that I’ve been through my fair share of personal storms over the past two years. Throughout my storms, I’ve tried to channel the strength of the Towego, facing each storm head on and crashing through it. I have to admit, I got pretty good at it. I’ve shuddered a few times, but each time, I’ve managed to keep pushing forward. For the most part, I wasn’t aware of what I was doing because like the Towego, I realize the only possible way to make it anywhere is to keep moving forward.

A few weeks ago, things changed. I had been focusing so hard and long on auto pilot crashing through the storm that when the storm finally broke, I got wrapped up in the calmness of it and let my guard down. The forecast was amazing and it was supposed to hold without an end date in sight. I sat out on the back deck carelessly with no one at the wheel soaking in much needed sunshine after way too much rain. The sun was intoxicating and I was so thankful it was finally shining on me. I was enjoying it so much that I somehow missed the gray clouds creeping overhead, the ripples starting to dance across the glassy water or the clanging of the rigging against the mast. I realize now, I chose to ignore it. I was too afraid to head into another storm and I truly hoped it would go away and not ruin my time in the sun. But the gray clouds didn’t go away and before I knew it, a rogue came out of nowhere and took me out. And it really took me out hard, nearly sinking every ounce of spirit I have left in me. For the first time in two years, I actually felt like I couldn’t move forward; and worse yet, I didn’t care.

As a result, I haven’t felt much like doing anything lately; and running was definitely low on my priority list. I’ve had a wicked cold that’s been lingering and I had a freak run-in with the pavement in the Costco parking lot due to a strange incident which has left my entire left side throbbing. I finally got off my sorry butt and went running in the rain and wind last night. Immediately, I wanted to turn back and crawl in bed to hide under my covers. “A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.” The wind was blowing hard pressing up against me trying to hold me back. Within a mile I had convinced myself to turn around. I admit that I don’t have proper running gear that protects me from the elements, so I was drenched from the rain and chilled down to the bone which didn’t help the situation. I started to wrestle with my mind, “Turn around. Go back. This is ridiculous. Just what the hell are you trying to prove?” Then a song came on my iPod and my mood changed. The song is Billy Joel’s “Downeaster Alexa.” It’s a song I’ve always found empowering because it reminds me of the strength of my father. He came to Alaska in the mid 60s wanting nothing more than to be a fisherman and having nothing more than his ranch boy dreams. He worked his way up to building his dream boat and a few years later, he watched it sink before his eyes. He was in his mid 40s with a wife and a kid still in elementary school and he had lost his entire livelihood- with no insurance to back him up. Once again, he had to start over from scratch. He moved forward and I needed to as well. I reached the Douglas Bridge and the wind was blowing so hard I had to cover my mouth with my hands to stop the wind from stealing my breath. I remember as a kid hiding behind my mom when it was windy so that the wind couldn’t take my breath away, but my mom wasn’t there to shield me on the bridge. It was just me and I trudged on. People were looking at the crazy girl on the bridge running with her hands cupped over her mouth, practically crawling so that the wind didn’t knock her over. I watched the whitecaps crash below me while I pushed across the bridge and somehow, I made it.

I admit to being tired of maneuvering through storms and I long for sunshine and warmth on my skin. It will come, but in order for it to, I just need to keep moving forward.

See Frances Run

Frances runs? Frances runs.

Ask my7th grade PE teacher Mr. LeCompte if he would have imagined me running as an adult and he might tell you of the time he found me crouched in the bushes alongside the Schoenbar Trail where I was hiding to avoid the 1 mile test run. It didn’t get better as I got older. In high school, I hid in the stairwell when we had to run laps around the bleachers. In college I wanted to join crew, but didn’t because the team had to run. Put me on a bike and I’ll go for hours, days….Put me on my two feet with the ground below and I would do anything to get out of having to run. I’ve always said if a bear was chasing me, I’d fall down and just get the mauling over with. (But I think that’s what you’re supposed to do anyway.)

It all stemmed from elementary school when the gym teacher would yell at me to run faster because I had long legs therefore I should be able to run fast, right? She was slightly scary and her yelling at me did make me run fast, for about 2 minutes and then I’d hyperventilate and pass out. Running and passing out became very common for me which is why I simply avoided it. In high school I finally went to the doctor and was told I had asthma. Hating the way my asthma inhaler made my heart feel like it was beating out of my chest, I just chose not to run.

But here I am, freshly back from a five mile run in the pouring rain, something I never thought I would do. A few years back I went to the gym and all the cardio equipment was occupied. No rowing urg, no bike, no elliptical, no stair climber—only the dreaded treadmill. I convinced myself I could walk on it, so I did. After a few minutes of walking, something inside said, “Run!”

And run I did.

For the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of passing out, I just kept running and before I knew it I ran a mile. It was the first mile I had ever run in my life and it only took 32 years. When I got home I e-mailed my friend Brock, an avid runner, and told him my good news. He replied back with, “We should run a marathon.” And I, feeling the high of running my first mile, stupidly agreed. This was fall 2008. January of 2009 I became pregnant with Aurelia so we agreed to postpone a year. January of 2010 I was diagnosed with cancer, so once again, the goal of a marathon was put on hold. It really appeared I was doing everything possible to get out of running a marathon. January 2011 passed and Brock did a polite, “ahem…” and sent me a reminder that we were supposed to run a marathon. I was also stuck because I told everyone at my August “Franny Kicked Cancer” party that I would be running a marathon within a year. Really, once you announce something like that in public, you’re sort of stuck, and Brock especially wasn’t going to let me forget it.

About three weeks ago I started my training for my marathon in January. It’s in Disney World and I’ll be running with Team in Training to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. The training has started off slow and so far, I haven’t whined too much. Although, I had a hellacious (hillacious) run last weekend in Ketchikan. I was supposed to run four miles so I took off from my folk’s house on 2^nd and ran the 3^rd avenue bypass over to Bear Valley towards Tatsuda’s Grocery and then back home along Tongass Ave. Within the first five minutes I thought I was going to die. I forgot the bypass has a steady incline and I was not used to running uphill. I got home and calculated my time and my distance and nearly cried when I realized I ran 15 minute miles. I licked my wounds by telling myself it was uphill a good portion of the way, it was hot, and I had a migraine the night before, excuses, excuses. However, I was relieved when I actually mapped the route into Google Maps and discovered I’d gone five miles- not four. I, Frances, the girl who hid in the bushes had just run 5 miles.

Throughout my cancer, I joked that going through chemo and radiation was going to be easier than running the marathon. Similar to my treatment, there will be aches, there will be pains, and perhaps a bit of tears, delirium and the occasional vomiting, but I know in the end, that I’ll be happy I made it through both. And I am already feeling that sense of pride of getting through something tough. I feel it every time I run one more mile, because to me, each additional mile is another mile further than I’ve ever gone before. A mile I’m lucky to be running at all.

On an end note, if you want to donate to my cause and the real reason I’m running this marathon, visit my Team in Training Leukemia and Lymphoma Society fundraising website at: My Fundraising Page

It takes awhile for History to Repeat Itself…

Tonight there is a lunar eclipse. I am tired, but I am staying up late because the last time a lunar eclipsed happened was 400 years ago. Knowing it may be another 400 years before it happens again and I know I won’t be around to see it --and I want to experience it.

I am okay with saying I won’t be around in 400 years, but last year at this time, I wasn’t sure I’d be around in 1 year.

History has been lingering around me like the pokey Christmas tree spruce needles carpeting my house. (I wish I had a bull pine tree instead of a spruce.) The holidays are a reminder of what I went through this past year, a year I’ve been doing really good at putting behind me.

It was after Thanksgiving last year that I learned I might have some sort of disease, and that disease might be cancer. It was during the Opera’s Holiday Pops Concert that I stood in the back of the performance hall, with a huge lump in my throat and tears streaming down my face as the choir sang Joy to the World. I was not Joyful, I was fearful of what was to come. There was no new life being brought into my world, instead, it felt like life was ending.

This year during Holiday Pops, I sang in the chorus. I have to admit, it was really hard. Here’s a secret most don’t know about me. I am actually quite terrible in crowds and most of the time, I am in character. It’s a trick I learned with all my years of theater. It’s easier for me to be in character because I can escape any stage fright or emotional attachment I have towards something. It was a struggle to fight back tears this year singing what is typical rather emotional music anyway. So needless to say so I didn’t look like a blithering fool, I found that place I needed to be and powered through Joy to the World. Besides, when I cry, I sing flat.

Last year I went to my sorority party and everyone gave me mournful yet supportive hugs. This year the only cancer related thing someone said to me at the party was, “How the heck did you get that wicked scar on your neck?” I smiled and said, “That? Oh that is where I had my cancer biopsy done. But that’s nothing, check this out!” and I pulled my shirt down lower and exposed my port scar which looks like the surgeon cut me open with a chainsaw and stitched me up with a net mending needle. I now have impressive party scars to show off. Not very feminine, but hey, it’s what I’ve got to offer.

Christmas will be the next hurdle. Last Christmas I slept a lot. Mom and dad were here and mom made sure I got plenty of rest which I needed. Everything was kind of a blur since I knew I’d be leaving a few days after Christmas to get the official verdict, the verdict I was pretty sure I already knew.

As these moments repeat themselves a year later, reflection is impossible to bypass and emotions are difficult to hold back. My friend Jamie told me not to ignore my feelings, but instead, just take note of them. So yes, I’ve been making many notes the past few weeks. I imagine myself writing them down, sealing them in an envelope and sending them away, never to be heard from again. I don’t want this season to be remembered with angst and fear. I just want it to be what it is, and live in the present. History is history, and in my case, every 400 years is good enough for me.

It’s 10 degrees outside right now, but I’m headed out to watch the eclipse.