"Wild" Memorials

I just finished listening to the audiobook of Cheryl Strayed's memoir, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail.  If you're not familiar with the book, I definitely recommend it.  Strayed writes poignantly about what it's like to lose a parent to cancer when you're young.  I admired the honesty with which she confronts the reckless things she did in the wake of her mother's death, like destroying a marriage to a man she loved very much and getting briefly trapped in a cycle of heroin usage.  I was moved by her description of how spending a summer hiking the PCT alone helped her re-orient herself and come to terms with her losses, even though the real meaning of her experiences only began to make sense to her slowly over the course of time.

It also makes me envious.  Even though there were significant differences in our circumstances, I could relate to so many of the things Strayed said about losing her mom in her twenties.  But I just don't have the capacity to do what she did.  Our culture loves these grand narratives-- I loved my mother so much that I smashed up my life once I lost her, and then I took on a grand quest I was ill equipped to conquer and mastered it anyway!  Of course this is a best-selling memoir.  Of course its film rights were optioned by Reese Witherspoon before it was even published and it was selected to reprise Oprah's Book Club. If Witherspoon is not nominated for an Oscar for the film that comes out in December, I'll be shocked.  It will make a boatload of money.  Apparently it's not just our culture that loves this type of story, either-- the book has been translated into some unbelievable number of languages.  To respond to the loss of your parent so profoundly that it takes months of intense hiking to get back on track, and to then spend the next fifteen years of your life honing your craft as a writer so you are up to the challenge of documenting your feelings in an artful memoir-- that is the type of memorial to a beloved parent that everyone except Cheryl Strayed can only dream of creating.

It's not accurate to say I have no "self-destructive tendencies."  I believe I do have them, and they are always looming in wings the herculean tasks I am prone to taking on.  They're there in the big and little things-- when I refused to miss a single mile of training for a marathon, when I obsessively pumped milk before bed every night so Nora would never have to have a drop of formula, when I decided I needed to make an insanely ambitious quilt for my one year old with nothing more than a pattern, and when I left a well compensated job I liked to commit myself to a Master's degree and then doubled down to take on a PhD.  These are admirable ambitions, of course, but I know myself well enough to know that some element of my attraction to them comes from needing to push myself to the ultimate limit of my capabilities, whether or not that is a healthy or sound thing to do at that moment.  It's never "necessary" for me to sacrifice quite as much of myself as I do in these tasks.  At the end of my first semester of grad school, when one of my professors asked, "Liz, do you realize you're the only student who even attempted to read everything I assigned?" the honest answer was no.  It had not occurred to me that there was any other way.

But my self-destructive tendencies are judicious, not reckless. I am the type of person who will burn herself out but will never burn herself up.  To imagine myself in a circumstance where my estranged husband has to physically remove me from the home of a lover who has gotten me hooked on heroin?  This is just something I would never, ever do.  I could not do this, and I would not want to do this.  But you have to be the type of person who would do this, I think, to be the type of person who would then turn around and conquer thousands of miles of trail hiking to "get your life back together."  Strayed says this herself, more or less, when she acknowledges that without the "self destructive" behaviors, she never would have ended up on the trail, and so they were worthwhile. I find myself strangely envious of people who "get their lives back together" because I could never imagine letting my life "go" in the first place.  Somehow I have been conditioned to believe that the more self-destructive Strayed's behavior was in the aftermath of her mom's death, the more it proves she loved her mother.

The book has made me look at my life and think about how people would probably have to be told my dad died when I was young, or they wouldn't even know it.  I do not seem "troubled." I didn't "fall apart" in the months after he died.  If Strayed's inclination was to smash everything up in the wake of loss, my inclination was to work harder at putting the pieces together.  I didn't postpone my plans to get pregnant or take a semester off or ask for paper extensions.  I just did exactly what I would have done if my dad was still alive.  I wonder, or maybe I fear, whether this makes it look to other people like I wasn't profoundly impacted by this loss. I know loss is personal and it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks about it.  But I'd like to be capable of some kind of grand gesture to memorialize my dad, and I'm just not.  Somehow that feels like a disservice to him.

But then I think about what my dad would have said, if you'd asked him, How is Liz going to react to your death?  He would have expected me to behave exactly as I did.  In the letter he had us read at his memorial, the thing he said about me was:

"Lizzie would hustle around the soccer field, one of the most natural scoring machines we could find, but was always relegated to defending the opponent's best scorer, because we knew she'd keep up and do the right thing."  

My dad described me in this way-- as the one who could be trusted to "keep up" and "do the right thing"-- because this is the way I am.  But it also works reflexively: I am this way because this is the way he spoke about me for as long as I can remember.  I understand this on an intellectual level, because I know, for example, that the legal code not only punishes "undesireable" behavior, but by coding certain behaviors as "undesireable," the laws also regulate the ways we imagine behaving in the world.  I can see, as a parent, that my daughter behaves the way I expect her to behave because the possibilities she imagines for herself are regulated by my expectations.  Some people don't behave the way their parents expect, but as far as I know, I always have-- just as I have always abided by laws.

I hope that what Strayed's book will do for me in the long run is not to make me envious of her capacity for memorialization-- but to make me more appreciative of my own, even though it is different.  While reflecting on her act of memorialization, I have tried to become more intellectually cognizant of the little ways I memorialize my dad all the time.  Some part of me believes that the type of memorialization he would have wanted most is not the grandest one, but the one of which I am most capable.  And what I have begun to realize is that I memorialize him in little ways he would have appreciated all the time.

Like this week, when I discovered that a lot of the archival and historical research I've done for my dissertation chapter on Josephine Herbst has already been published by someone else.  This devastated me-- I was crying my way through the book chapter, watching my own insights unfold before me in someone else's language.  Part of me felt like quitting, or at least taking a few days off to regroup, but the part of me that felt compelled to dig in and immediately set out to think harder-- that part of me is a result of and an honor to my dad.

Or when I find myself hitting "checkout" on a pair of black skinny jeans I don't really need, but which I have decided should count as a birthday gift to myself because the price is good-- that part of me is a result of and an honor to my dad, too.

When I stop at the grocery store to buy food for dinner before picking Nora up from school, and I find myself choosing drinks and cookies to give her teachers as an afternoon "thank you" snack-- that part of me is a result of and an honor to my dad, too.

When people ask me "What is wrong with her eye?" and I explain why Nora wears an eye patch, but I also can't help emphasizing how remarkable she is and how enthusiastically she embraces each new challenge-- that part of me is a result of and an honor to my dad, too.

Nobody will ever offer me a book advance to write about the ways I honor my dad because they're not very exciting.  No publisher is itching to sell Prime: Skinny Jeans from Amazon and Other Minor Self Indulgences.  But I think that's okay.  Even if my dad always did say he wanted to write a book, he ultimately decided to invest his energy and resources in other types of projects.  So maybe a book is not the way he would have wanted to be memorialized anyway.

But maybe I'm wrong.  I could see Reese Witherspoon starring in a movie about thank you gifts and skinny jeans.

Aunt Andy

Looking forward to my upcoming birthday is bittersweet this year because it will be the first time I do not share the birthday with my Aunt Andy, who recently passed away after fighting cancer as long as I can remember.  The influence she has had on my life would be impossible to calculate.  I haven't spent much time with her since I moved away from the west coast, but she was one of the few women I was around growing up who didn't fit the mold of stereotypical femininity and didn't care that she didn't.  I don't know if she would self identify as a feminist, but I count her among my earliest feminist influences because she had opinions, and she liked working, and she was a good mother to her boys, and she talked to me about the stuff I really liked even when it was nerdy and bookish.  She also gave me this outfit, which goes to show I have been sporting navy stripes, pattern mixing, and cuffing my pants since way back:

When I think about all the health complications my aunt endured for so many years, I am reminded of how angry it makes me when people say someone has "beaten cancer" or "won the battle against cancer."  I totally get that cancer remission is something to celebrate, but please call it "enduring the battle with cancer" or "surviving cancer," not "beating" it.  To position the living as the "winners" in the battle positions the dead as the "losers" by default, and I think that dishonors everyone who has experienced it.  My aunt, and dad, and grandpa did not "lose" a battle with cancer, even though it claimed their lives.  These are people who looked cancer in the face, handled the ways it destroyed their health with honor, persisted with the will to live despite the toll it took on them, and faced death with grace when they saw that the time was upon them.  They couldn't have "fought" any harder in order to "beat" cancer, and they were not "beaten" by it.  Hemingway gets it right when he says, "A man can be destroyed but not defeated." I am thankful to my Aunt Andy for helping to teach me that a woman can't be defeated, either.

That's my Aunt Andy in the gray t-shirt.  I'll think of her whenever my birthday approaches.  I'll think of her when I mix stripes with polka dots.  I'll think of her when I notice new gray hairs in my head because I can distinctly remember a conversation we had in which she told me dying your hair to cover them was lame.  I'm thankful she knitted a hat for the grandneice she never met and sorry Nora will not get to meet her.  And I know I'll think of her often as my nephew grows up and I try to figure out how to be the kind of aunt who makes him feel like who he is is good and right.

Rest easy, Aunt Andy.  Thanks for the life lessons and the kickass outfit.

Rest Easy, Papa

A week ago yesterday, my grandfather passed away.  Earlier that morning, Nora, Vickie, and I had arrived in his hospital room.  The night before, my Aunt Carrie had called to let us know that because his cancer was inoperable, he had elected to stop receiving dialysis treatments, so Vickie and I decided to take Nora with us to see him one last time and say goodbye.  It had only been a week before that that he'd been admitted to the hospital due to kidney failure, which had been the first sign that he was seriously ill.

I will always count it as one of the great fortunes of my life that we got to see him only a few months ago, when he was still feeling mostly like himself, and that we got to see him again last week to say goodbye.  Nora was sick during that trip in July, but I could still tell how much delight he took in being around her.  And when we walked into that hospital room last week, and he was visible excited as he said "Nora, Nora, Nora!" I have never been more proud of anything than I was to make him that happy.

During that morning visit, Papa was cheerful and peaceful.  He told me he wished he could hold Nora but was satisfied to rub her leg and commented on how soft her skin was.  "She hasn't spent quite as much time in the sun as me," he joked.  He thanked her for coming to see him.  He had me bring Nora in really close so he could tell her, "Someday, when you are older, you will understand about the cycle of life, and then you will know why I am so glad you came to see me."  I tried to choke back the tears long enough to say "We are so thankful we got here in time," but I'm not sure it made any sense.  It reminded me of how, in Dad's final days, he somehow managed to say the things that would give me the strength to keep on going without him.  Throughout the day, Papa's condition deteriorated rapidly, but he bravely hung on until all of the grandchildren who were traveling to see him arrived.  When Nate and Ashley got there, he couldn't really talk but his whole face lit up at the sight of them.  That evening, we all got a chance to spend time sitting with him and saying goodbye before he passed away peacefully.

I've been sitting on this blog post for several days, trying to figure out how I can pay tribute to my grandfather, especially when I'm so pinched for time with my comprehensive exam rapidly approaching.  And then it occurred to me: the best tribute I can pay to him is to get back to work.  He taught us to believe that if we worked hard enough, we could achieve anything we wanted.  But he also helped us to realize that working hard enough means working really, really hard.  Nobody was a harder worker than Papa, and anyone who worked with him will tell you that his employees worked hard for him just because they liked him.  Mimi told me that before he fell ill, he was making plans to come east to attend my PhD graduation ceremony.  For him there was no question about if I would be able to do it or not.  He was just waiting to hear when.  I can hear what he would say: "Get back to work, Missy."

So in honor of my grandpa and the work ethic he taught me, I've been plugging away at my work.  Somewhere down the line, I'll take a break long enough to write about how the things I will miss the most are his affectionate ribbing and his stories.  In the meantime, I'll savor this stage of loss in which every little thing reminds you of the person who is gone.  And I'll share the pictures and video of Nora from our trip, because he wouldn't have had it any other way.

Okay, I have to say one more thing before I go: my family is the best.  I can't wait until we are all together again for a celebration rather than to mourn, but in the meantime, I'm proud to be a member of a family who comes together to hold each other up during life's most trying moments.

Breaking Back

In tennis, it is such a big advantage to serve that you are expected to win every game in which you're serving.  When you win your own service game, it's called a "hold."  When you lose your service game, they call it being "broken."  I don't know the origins of these terms unless the "service break" refers to a break in the expected pattern of the server winning each game.  Since the players alternate service games, and a two game lead is needed to win a set, the set is usually won when a player breaks his opponent's serve at least once.  If no one breaks, the set goes to a special game called a tiebreaker, unless it is the final set of the match, when some tournaments require the play to continue until one player gets the two game advantage.

The best thing you can do when you've been broken is to win your opponent's next service game, which is called "breaking back."  This nullifies the advantage your opponent achieved by breaking you and puts the set back "on serve."  It also stops the momentum shift that is likely to occur when your opponent wins three straight games.  When you break back, you essentially even the score, though you may still be down by a game if your opponent served first.  You'll have to break again if you want to win the set before the tiebreak, but at least you are no longer playing from behind.

I am explaining all of this because I turn 29 today, and the best way I can think to describe the past year is that while 28, I was broken.  Sometimes in tennis you're broken when you play a loose game, or you let the other player get in your head, or you make too many unforced errors.  This was not the case for me.  Figuratively speaking, I came into 28 with a careful game plan, a good support team, proper training, and excellent conditioning.  I played the best tennis I could play while I was 28.  I pulled off shots that would have been clean winners at any other point in my life, but the balls kept coming back until I couldn't return them.  I maintained my mental focus.  I even hit a few serves that would have been aces in different games, but this time they were converted into returns that were shoved down my throat.  I was broken despite my best intentions and my best execution of those intentions.  And I was broken badly.

For the past few years I thought I would have some anxiety about turning 29.  I am not really worried about turning 30, because I'm looking forward to what my 30s have in store for me.  But I thought my 29th birthday might trigger the feeling that I was running out of time to accomplish all the things I'd expected to do in my 20s.  But this is not the case.  I am so ready to say good riddance to 28 that I welcome 29 with open arms.  I am glad this service game is over.  I do not like getting broken any more than I thought I would.  And 29 means a chance to break back.

Losing my dad was the most profoundly difficult of the several difficult experiences I endured while I was 28.  I hope that in the years to come, when I look back on 28, the pride I feel in how I played will grow stronger than the sting I've suffered from being broken so badly.  But despite any success I might have in recovering some positive sentiment for 28, it will always be the year in which I lost my dad.  It will always be the year in which I was broken.

This makes me extra thankful for my birthday this year. I can already see that 29 will be include important opportunities for me to break back.  One of the things I love about tennis and about life is that they both afford chances to stop, reset, and start over.  Everything else aside, if the baby and I make it through her birth happy and healthy, 29 will always be the age at which Billy and I had our first child.  If you read my Dad's blog, you know that he often relied on sporting metaphors to explain his experiences and his attitude about them.  In our family, this is why we love sports.  Sports give us a way of understanding our experiences and sharing them with others.  The tennis analogy feels perfect because breaking back is a hugely significant accomplishment, and at the same time, it is only the first step of many towards coming from behind to win the match.  Now that I've been broken, there is nothing else to do but just keep playing until I get the chance to break back.

(I can't claim to have drawn this parallel between life and "breaking back" myself; I first discovered it when I read James Blake's autobiography, which he titled Breaking Back.  In the book, Blake describes how fracturing his neck gave him the unexpected opportunity to spend plenty of time with his father as his father died of cancer, and how he subsequently had to overcome a debilitating case of shingles before returning to the ATP tour.)

After Loss, What Then?

It's been three weeks now since we lost Dad.  This is a weird space for me because under any other circumstance, being able to say I saw my dad just three weeks ago would be exciting.  I'm conscious, though, that the days and weeks since I last saw my dad are just going to pile up until they become years.  Living away from family has conditioned me to live in the pattern of feeling sad at goodbyes but immediately looking forward to when I'll see my family members again.  Goodbye for me has never really been goodbye.  Other languages do this better-- in my life it's always been more like "auf wiedersehen" or "hasta luego."  Maybe this is why I always say "bye" and almost never say the full "goodbye."  Coming to terms with this goodbye really being for good has been difficult.

Even so, the feeling of loss is always with me.  I thought that returning to Maryland might make Dad's death seem like it didn't happen, because I regularly go several days without hearing from Dad.  I don't know where I got the idea that people wake up in the morning and feel sad when they remember that someone they love has died.  Movies?  Songs?  For me this is an impossibility.  I feel the loss inside me always-- there is never a moment when I don't feel it, even if I am not consciously thinking about it.

In his final days, Dad told me he wished he could make "this" easier for me, so I know he would be happy that I've been able to carry on with things fairly well.  I know I am a words person, but I keep imagining the way I feel on a graph.  If time was on the x axis, and mood was on the y axis, with x=0 being neutral mood, I feel like my baseline mood was always at something like a 3.  Something 4 measurements "good" would take me up to 7 on the mood graph, and something 4 measurements "bad" would take me down to a -1.  Now I feel like my baseline mood is re-calibrated at about -3.  Vickie and Billy still make me laugh around the house.  Seeing each of my close friends over lunch and coffee made me feel better.  When I run into professors and classmates on campus who are genuinely happy to see me, my mood still improves.  I still enjoy being engaged in my academic work.  But now that my baseline is reset, something 4 measurements "good" only takes me up to a 1, and something 4 measurements "bad" takes me all the way down to -7.  Since returning to my life here in Maryland, I feel like myself again, but I feel like myself in a different register.

Last night it occurred to me that this is probably very similar to the way Dad felt while living with what he knew would be terminal cancer.  He seems to have dealt with it by consciously seeking out things that would move him up from his baseline mood and by always looking forward to the next thing, even though he could not know how many next things there would be.  So that's what I'm working on now, too.

And thanks to everyone who has reached out to me through emails, calls, texts, notes, and visits.  Even when I'm in a moment where your kind words and thoughtfulness only take me from a -6 to a -5, I appreciate your help with moving me upwards rather than downwards.

("After Loss, What Then?" is the afterword Judith Butler wrote for Loss: The Politics of Mourning.  I haven't read it, and maybe some day I'll want to, but I'm not much in the mood to critically analyze what I'm feeling.  Sidenote: Katie, do you know this anthology?)

i carry your heart with me

After Vickie interviewed for a job at Hopkins on December 29, we got the call from Dad.  The one that said we'd better come home as quickly as possible because he was not going to get better this time.  (Vickie got the job!  She starts in March.)

Since the 31st, we've been in West Linn caring for Dad as his health rapidly deteriorated.  I feel so fortunate to have been here for his final days, and my heart swelled with pride and awe as I watched Vickie take care of him.  Dad maintained his strength long enough to see all of his visitors, including all of his family members and his closest lifelong friends.  He kept us laughing all the way through.

And then he was gone.

It's hard to avoid becoming choked with grief when I think about all of the things he won't be here to see and all the things I won't be able to share with him.  So today, at least for a while, I wanted to focus on the things I have gotten to share with him since he was first diagnosed with cancer five years ago.  Dad packed a lot of living into these past few years.



I don't know how long it will be until I feel like writing again.  When I returned to blogging in early 2009, it was to share my half marathon training updates with my dad.  He's been the blog's most devoted reader.  In the meantime, though, if you'd like to honor my dad, you could do one of the following:
Pour yourself a good glass of wine.
Call your parents to tell them you love them, share a few laughs, and ask if they've had a colonoscopy recently.
Play catch with a little kid.
Put on some Jimmy Buffett music.
Play a round of golf.
Get out your calendar and plan your next trip.

("i carry your heart with me" is a poem by ee cummings.  Its opening and closing line have been on repeat in my head since we lost Dad.  i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart). )

The Night Before Christmas

Merry Christmas from our house to yours!

Last night, Vickie picked up Billy and me from the airport after an eventful trip back to Oregon for the holidays.  While we were home, I submitted my final paper of the semester, which felt like a huge weight off my shoulders.  It was a very rigorous term, so it feels great to have most of the work behind me.  I began working on my winter break project, which I'll need to submit before the semester is officially finished, but I am looking forward to undertaking that reading list over the next few weeks.  I also checked my grades for the two classes I've completed, and overall I was quite pleased with how they turned out.  I may have finally learned that perfection on my transcript is unimportant as long as I feel like I gave the classes my best effort.  I know I could have done better in one of the classes if I hadn't also been taking two other ones and teaching, but as a whole, I feel very satisfied with what I was able to accomplish this term.  I also feel relieved to have it behind me and to know there'll never be another one like it.

It was really nice to be in Oregon.  I finally got to introduce Billy to Jordan, Krista's husband and my old friend, and we both got to meet their girls for the first time.  I was so glad to have time to catch up with Krista and Jordan, and Clara and Evie were even more adorable in person, which I didn't think was possible.  When we were saying our final goodbye and Clara waved and said "Bye Liz!" my heart grew three sizes that day.  We also hosted a get together of old high school friends, and my friend Tina arrived early so we could meet her new baby, Sophia.  Sophia was happy and smiley, and it was fun for me to see Tina as a new mom and talk to her about how she has begun to figure things out.  (It was NOT fun to hear that she'd been in labor for over 24 hours.  Yikes!)  It was also great to see my friend Kelsey and several other girls we grew up with.  We are all doing such different things, and we're in different phases in our personal and professional lives, but everyone is doing so well.  It made me thankful that I grew up in a time and place where it was cool for girls to be smart and kind.

I was also glad to have a chance to spend time with family.  I'm spoiled now that Vickie lives with us, but especially after such a difficult semester, I was really looking forward to going home to see my mom and dad.  Mom continues to work really hard in her job downtown, and she told us that she recently realized she has worked 22 Saturdays this year.  She has had to put in a lot of overtime, and her job sounds like a lot of work, so I was really thankful that she was able to take some time off to spend with us.  My dad's parents, Mimi and Papa, finally got to town after several flight delays, and it was great to be able to see them for the holidays again this year.  I was also glad to see my dad, and we finally got to hear more details about his trip to Chile.  He also shared his photos of the trip with us, and it was nice to hear how much he enjoyed seeing the country with Nate and Judy and how nice his visit was with his exchange student host family.

Dad says he felt well during his trip, but unfortunately the tumors in his liver seem to have spread since his return.  Shortly after we arrived in town, his doctors determined that he has some kind of blockage in his liver, so he underwent a procedure to try to alleviate the obstruction.  The procedure was not as successful as the doctor had hoped it might be, so they are continuing to try to figure out what the next step will be.  My dad has kept such a positive attitude and a determined spirit throughout his battle with cancer that it just feels so fundamentally unfair that the cancer does not recognize how badly he wants it out of his body.  My dad and I are both such do-ers that I know it's hard for both of us when there doesn't seem to be anything that we can do.  I was really thankful that we were home to try to help out and keep him company since he wasn't feeling well.  Given Dad's health, we've decided to forgo the trip to Australia we had planned for January and will instead return to Oregon to spend some more time as a family.  I had been looking forward to this winter break all semester, and now I am more appreciative than ever that I don't have to "report for duty" at school until late January.  Billy has never been to Seattle, so I am also hoping we will be able to get up there with Mom during this next trip out.  It will also be fun to have the chance to see Jordan, Krista, Tina, and their girls again.  We're all hoping that Dad will be feeling better then, but if he is not, I am glad that I will be able to be home to help out with whatever he needs me to do.  Plus, now that he has a DVR, we can catch as much Australian Open tennis as my heart desires!  : )

It was hard for me to leave Portland, but it is always nice to come home to our own house, and Oscar is definitely happy we're back.  After sleeping in this morning, we went up to Patti and Chuck's to exchange gifts before heading to Nana and Mr. Dick's to spend Christmas Eve with Chuck's side of the family.  Billy's cousin Gina is newly engaged, and his cousin Chuckie recently finished his nursing program, so there was plenty of Christmas cheer with that side of the family this year.  It was fun for me to have Vickie there, too.  Billy's family has made me feel like one of their own for several years now, but having them adopt Vickie into the swing of things makes me realize anew how kind and welcoming they are.  Now she's off to work at her church's Christmas Eve service before we all head up to Billy's Aunt Mary and Uncle Gary's house to celebrate with Patti's side of the family tomorrow.

I'm sorry that I won't get to see Nate or my Gramma Kingston this holiday season, but I feel more thankful than ever that I've gotten to spend the holidays with all of the other people who are most important to me.  I hope all of you out there are enjoying plenty of good food, fun, and laughter with your loved ones this holiday season.  My tendency to get caught up in my academics makes me appreciative that I have so many people in my life who remind me that the most important things in life are not printed between the covers of a book.  I feel like I must have overused the words "thankful," "glad," and "appreciative" in this post, but I can't help feeling like my heart is full this Christmas.  Cancer infuriates me, but it also reminds me that life doesn't promise us anything, and in just one day everything can change.  I feel so fortunate that I got to hug and laugh with so many people I love this month, and I hope you'll all take a few extra minutes this season to do the same.

Growing up, my dad read us The Night Before Christmas by Clement C Moore every Christmas Eve before bed.  In the spirit of that book, I'll close with:

Happy Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!

(I almost like this picture better than the proper one at top.  The camera has fallen over, Oscar has jumped out of his spot, and Vickie and I are laughing, but Billy is still trying to play it straight to get the shot.  Such is life in our house these days.)

Just Me and My Dad

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

My local running club holds a father's day 10k every year.  I really like this idea, because running reminds me of my dad.  When my dad was my age, he ran, too, until his doctor told him he had to stop.  When I was 14 and trying out for the WLHS soccer team, and I was required to run 2 miles as part of the try out, he helped me run 2 miles in 16 minutes as part of my training.  (That's still the fastest 2 miles I've ever run, I believe.)  When I was 21, my dad flew to Chicago to see me run in the Chicago Marathon.  Last year, I decided that running a half marathon to raise money for the Lance Armstrong Foundation was the best way I could honor my dad's fight with cancer, and I've been running ever since.  In last year's Father's Day 10k, I ran my best 10k time with the best race pace I've run in any race, ever.  I was extra excited for this year's race because Billy's parents, Patti and Chuck, were planning to come cheer me on.

This morning, I ran my worst race ever-- no exaggeration.  It was around 80 degrees with high humidity at race time.  I was doing well through mile 4 (of 6.2) and then I bonked.  During mile 5, I thought I was going to throw up.  During mile 6, I thought I was going to have to stop to walk.  But the signs they had placed up along the course kept reminding me it was father's day, so I thought about what my dad would have said: just keep going until you can't go anymore.  And I found that I could keep going until I crossed the finish line, even though my time was about 6 or 7 minutes slower than last year's PR, even though I lost my most recent cup of water after I stopped.  Oops.  

I know what my dad would have said then, too.  "Are you okay?" followed by "at least you finished hard."  That's what my dad has taught me my whole life, and continues to teach me in his own battle with cancer: accept the challenge, remain determined, and finish as hard as you can.  That way, even if the  results you achieve are not necessarily what you had hoped for, you know you've given it your best shot.

Thanks, Dad.

(Just Me and My Dad is a children's book from the Little Critter books by Mercer Mayer.  I loved these books when I was a kid, and I couldn't choose any title from "classic literature," because for a multitude of reasons, "father" seems to be a bad word among writers.)

Unaccustomed Earth

Usually I write blog entries when I think I have something interesting to say.  Since the conclusion of my semester, I haven't really been doing anything I find interesting, but maybe some of my readers are wondering what's going on with me.  Or they just miss having something to read when they happen to pop by the blog.  So here goes- a completely random collection of thoughts.

This week I finished reading Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri.  I really liked it.  Sometimes "immigrant" narratives are difficult for me to relate to, but she frames the collection with this quote from Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Custom House":
Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil.  My children have had other birthplaces, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth.
As someone who is making a life for herself in a place very different from the place where she grew up, this provided a great point of entry for me.  (This in itself marks a shift in my reading-- normally I'm trying to analyze the book for what it says, not judging it based on how easily I can relate it to my own life.  This is one thing I consider when I read for fun.)  This book felt like the right place to start my summer reading, because "vacation" feels like unaccustomed earth to me at this point, too.

Monday was my first day at home by myself since I finished my semester, and what did I do?  After I went for a run and bid goodbye to Vickie, I spent most of the day reading.  On any given day that I'm home during the semester, I spend most of the day reading, as well.  So I guess I'm in the right program, right?  (I certainly didn't mind putting the book down when Billy got home, though.)

Speaking of running, I have a 10k coming up on Father's Day.  I did really well in this race last year, running the fastest pace I've ever run competitively.  I'd like to beat that time but I'm not sure how likely that is.  I think it depends mostly on the weather, because as I was reminded a few weeks ago, it's a lot harder to run in heat and humidity.  I'm looking forward to the race, though!  I love the 10k distance.

I found out that my paper on Margaret Garner and Harriet Beecher Stowe's Dred has been accepted for the Reading Comparatively: Theories, Practices, Communities conference at UMd in November.  I'm excited to have found a life for this project beyond the seminar paper because I feel like the argument is really interesting, and I invested a lot of time in that research.  I'm terrified about presenting on a panel alongside Mary Helen Washington, Edlie Wong (who is joining our faculty), and a fellow graduate student whose dissertation-in-progress on slavery, law, and literature has already won two awards.  I guess this is how it's going to continue to be for me at UMd:  I'll keep trying to jump head first into the deep end, and they'll keep letting me.

After having Vickie here for a couple weeks, it is a little weird now that she is gone.  I guess it is a good sign that I am looking forward to her return at the end of the summer instead of thinking "phew, glad she's gone."  : )  If Oscar could speak, I'm sure he'd ask me daily when she is coming back.  He misses his daily walks and he can't figure out why we are not attending to his every whim.  I am also amused that Vickie has traveled several thousand miles since she left and the sheets on her bed that I intended to wash after she left have not yet moved an inch.  I find it exceptionally hard to accomplish anything when I'm not busy.  Does this happen to anyone else?  After she left, I finally did some picking up around the house because the mess got on my nerves.  I accomplish a lot more in a given day if I have to pay attention to what needs to be done.  With a wide-open schedule, I waste a lot of time and then wonder where it all went.

On Tuesday morning, my normally 40-60 minute commute took me two hours.  I got out of work late. The shoes I had delivered didn't fit.  The anemometer Billy had delivered was broken.  The mechanic who was fixing my car for the second time in as many weeks called to say that on the follow-up test drive, he hadn't secured the hood, and so it flew up and smashed the windshield.  I found out that during the week in August that we had been planning to return to visit the family and the girls' new babies, I have to be at work for "professional development."  My dad found out that he would have to start getting bi-weekly infusions of Avastin to stop the spread of his cancer.  That day felt like a kick in the stomach.

Other things have been going better.  I just returned from a relaxing lunch with Danielle, in which I didn't have to feel guilty about taking time out of my day for myself or returning ASAP to get back to work.  I met with the director of the first year writing program about the class I'll be teaching in the fall, and I'm starting to get excited for that.  Billy and I went into DC last night to meet up with some of his old work friends at a party our friend Will hosted on his condo building's rooftop deck, which has a great view of the city and a nice breeze.  We are building a nice little community of readers and commenters at Scholar Style Guide.  I have almost summoned the necessary energy to return to the paper I presented at the Narrative conference, revise it, and submit it for publication consideration.  The World Cup has begun and I had a good time watching the U.S. put up a good fight against England.  (Random fact that maybe only Liz knows: Jozy Altidore, who had a great shot on goal yesterday, is one of the many beneficiaries of the support of the Andy Roddick Foundation.  The foundation helped pay for his education and his training until he was signed professionally.)

Are you still reading?  Thanks for taking an interest in my summer break, then.  I don't have any recent pictures, but I'll leave you with a few from our graduation cookout.  Thanks Heather, for snapping so many photos!  (Click to enlarge)

And one more- an out-take from Scholar Style Guide in which Oscar decided to pose and join me:

The Big Lebowski

My dad had his latest round of diagnostic tests this week.  He found out that the tumors in his liver are essentially the same size they were in November, before he underwent an invasive radiation treatment to try to kill them.  The fact that the tumors are not larger than they were then indicates the treatment may have helped.  The fact that they're not gone or even significantly smaller indicates that the treatment didn't "fix" the problem.  My dad has decided to work through April and then go on extended medical leave so he can focus on feeling healthy instead of work.  He works for a company that gives him great benefits and he feels very fortunate about the medical leave options that are available to him.

Since he is going to be away from work for a while, he is starting to plan out his next year of vacations, so he called the next day to tell me that he is planning to take me and Billy to the Australian Open in Melbourne in January 2011.  He and my mom went to Australia when Nate and I were young, we had an Australian exchange student living with us for a year when I was born, and I think he has always wanted to go back.  I cannot help from talking every year about how watching the AO is almost painful because I'm so excited that tennis is back, the people there look so happy, and their summer weather is so beautiful that it makes our winter doldrums seem almost unbearable.  Earlier this year I called it a "two week mental oasis" from my regular life.

With six years of post-secondary study of literature and language under my belt, the best I can think to say in response to two these two events of the past week is (to quote the Dude from The Big Lebowski, and more recently, Jeff Bridges himself)

"Strikes and gutters, man."

Post Script: It occurred to me when I went running after posting this that "Strikes and Gutters" is also the name Nate gave to his blog, which he hasn't updated in a year, but is worth a return visit nonetheless.

Bits and Pieces

A few things here and there...

I can never make up my mind about Roger Federer. When he's on top, I'm desperate for anyone to beat him. When he looked fallible, I was cheering for him to make it back to the top. But it annoyed me when, after beating Andy at Wimbledon, he pulled a jacket out of his bag that had "15" emblazoned across the back. Today, I'm happy imagining that there is an article of clothing inside Roger Federer's racquet bag, designed to celebrate 6 US Open victories in a row, which never got to see the light of day. Congratulations are in order for Juan Martin del Potro, who becomes the first person to defeat both Federer and Nadal in a Grand Slam tournament. Neither played their best against him, but he rose to the challenge.

Patrick Swayze has lost his battle with pancreatic cancer. As a member of the generation of girls who grew up loving Johnny Castle, I feel sad. I have always felt, though, that his real life love story with his wife, Lisa Niemi, was more inspiring than any of his movies. My thoughts are with her as she tries to imagine life in a world that no longer includes the man she's been with since she was, I believe, only 15.

They have begun building the James Webb Space Telescope that Billy is working on. You can read about it here.

Congratulations, Kanye West. You've succeeded in doing something so absurd and ridiculous that not one single person is willing to come to your defense-- I didn't know this was actually possible! Also, you should be required to attend just one session of my current seminar on aesthetic inquiry before you are allowed to use the word "greatest" or spout off about "real art" even one more time.

President Obama is coming to my campus on Thursday to speak about health care reform. I think I'll ask for the morning off. I find it hard to maintain my sanity in the traffic that hits College Park on a rainy day, so I don't think I will make it through the mayhem surrounding a presidential visit.

I came across this quote from Elliott Gould in Esquire, which I thought was especially profound. "It is essential that I listen, so I can try to minimize problems that I create for myself." If only I could remember this at all times.

All right, enough, I must get back to my reading for my Early Modern readings class. So far, I hate it. I've got a Willa Cather book in my bag that's burning a hole in my curiosity, but instead I'm trying to decode "The articles whereforth John Frith died." An article I read yesterday from the New York Times quoted some scholar who thinks a "conservative" estimate of what percentage of academic searches begin with Google is about 95%. In order to figure out what the heck John Frith is saying, to Google I go... where, evidently, I'm in good company.

Just Keep Playing

I'll be honest: it has not been the best week for my family. My dad learned that the tumors have returned to his liver, so we await the doctor's recommendation about which course of action to take for the next series of treatments. Pop was in the hospital for three days after becoming extremely disoriented on some new medication.

But, as Dad likes to say, there is nothing we can do except "Just Keep Playing." Dad still feels good and has enjoyed a chemotherapy-free summer. A friend of his points out the positives of having a medical team that is able to identify abnormalities before they begin to impact his liver function. Pop was discharged from the hospital yesterday and able to spend the night at home again. Despite the doctor's initial concern, he does not have pneumonia.

I've resumed training for my 10 miler. My hamstring injury has not gone away, but the farther I run, the less it seems to bother me, so I've decided to devote some extra time to stretching and just run through it. This morning's 8 miler felt better than my distance runs have in weeks. It's the final weekend before my semester stars, and since I got my pre-class reading assignments finished early, I have given myself a break from all things academic until Monday morning. Tomorrow we head to Oriole Park to celebrate the last day of summer with the boys of summer and $1 hot dogs and sodas. On Thursday I received a large, fragrant bouquet of flowers with a note from the florist apologizing that they were not delivered on the 7th (thanks Dad!). Vickie is living in the same apartment building I did senior year, and she informs me that they started off the year with a successful keg party. The US Open begins on Monday. Things could certainly be much worse.

26: A Look Back

Today's final, Roddick vs. del Potro, concluded a great week at the Legg Mason Tennis Classic. If Andy had won, it would have been perfect, but he lost 6-8 in the 3rd set tiebreak, making the week almost perfect. Really, there couldn't be a more fitting end to my 26th year.

This year has been not quite perfect. I wish my dad's tumors had not returned. I wish neither Patti nor Chuck had needed surgery. I wish Pop could eat a milkshake or drink a beer. I wish my brother (and so many others) hadn't been faced with difficult decisions as a result of our slumping economy.

But those things aside, age 26 has been an almost perfect one for me. And since I try to focus on the positive, I thought I'd use my pre-birth day to recall the best things about this year.

Billy and I enjoyed year 2 of marriage. Every day I come home to my best friend and the life we're making together. It makes everything else better.

My dad has endured and overcome another obstacle in his battle against cancer, and for the past several months, he has felt healthy. Billy and I got to enjoy a week with him in New York to celebrate.

After interviewing all last summer for graduate assistant positions on campus, I was finally offered the one that was the best fit for me. Not only is it a position in my own department, but I get to work with people I genuinely like.

My return to graduate school has been more challenging and more rewarding than I expected. I knew it would be intellectually stimulating, but I could not have anticipated that my classmates would be so interesting or that my professors would be so invested in helping me succeed. I love my program and am hoping they'll let me stick around a few more years.

In the program, I found another pea to go in my pod. I don't know why I'm fortunate enough to find a kindred spirit every time I start a new adventure, but having Anne-Marie along for the ride has made it even more fun.

The other peas in my pod also had great years. Danielle, Erin, and I enjoyed regular Sunday breakfasts and movie nights in the year leading up to Erin's wedding to Brent. Krista and Jordan had an adorable, healthy, happy baby girl and I get to see pictures of little Clara regularly. Kelsey returned from her stint in the Peace Corps in Ukraine and was accepted into the occupational therapy program at the University of Washington. I believe Vickie is involved in every extracurricular activity available to students at VU, and yet she maintains an interest in nursing and an excellent academic record.

Speaking of Vickie, she, Billy, Nate, and I got to celebrate her 21st in Vegas. An epic siblings weekend I'll never forget.

I got back into shape and ran a half marathon for a good cause. My friends and family members generously donated over $2000 (more than twice my goal!) to the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

I've kept up with my running. I've found that it clears my head and helps me stay focused on all the other things I'm juggling. I love the ongoing competition with myself to improve and have continued competing in middle distance races about once a month.

I've enjoyed another year in the company of my in-laws. Baby Cash has added even more laughter and fun to our family get-togethers!

I got to unwind from a very hectic semester with a visit from Mom. It was great to welcome her into our home for the first time since we have been really settled and to spend some time showing her what our lives are like here.

I feel like I've been so fortunate this year that I'm not sure how age 27 can top age 26. There are several things coming up that are worth looking forward to, though: Billy finishing his master's degree, visiting my California relatives over the winter holidays, and graduating from my own master's program.

I know it is because I have such a great support system of family and friends that I am able to accomplish so many of the things that are important to me. Thanks, guys, for helping me find my way.

Commit to Fight Cancer

Lance Armstrong says:

I returned to cycling this year for one reason: to fight for the 28 million people affected by cancer worldwide.

We are making tremendous progress in this fight, but there’s still so much to be done. By next year cancer will be the #1 killer in the world and yet most of the world’s leaders lack any real plan to fight back.

During my 20-day ride in the Tour I'm calling on leaders around the world to make major commitments to fight cancer worldwide – but I can’t do it alone.

As a first step, will you join me and sign the World Cancer Declaration – a major global push to pressure the world's leaders to act now on cancer?

If you're interested in signing the World Cancer Declaration, please visit this website.

Update about Dad!

Just wanted to let everyone know that my dad got great news from his oncologist today. After two months without chemotherapy treatments, his diagnostic scans show that none of the tumors in his liver are continuing to grow, and some of them have continued to shrink. What is left are evidently "residual" cancer cells, which are no longer actively reproducing. His oncologist considers him to have entered "clinical remission." He will go back in 60 days for a full body PET scan to make sure the cancer cells haven't popped up elsewhere, and will continue to get diagnostic tests regularly, but at this time, it appears that no further treatment is necessary!

Thanks, as always, to all those of you who have continued to keep Dad and the rest of our family in your thoughts. He feels great and is excited to report that everyone can stop worrying about him and focus on other things!

The type of treatment that has been successful for my dad this time has only become available in recent years. Advancements in the battle against cancer are continually being made by the tireless efforts of scientists and doctors who are committed to finding innovative ways to save lives. I am hopeful that generous donations so many of you made to the LAF in support of my half marathon will help to encourage those struggling with cancer and to discover new ways to cure this disease.

Treatment Update!

Hello again! I wanted to give everyone an update on my dad. He had new diagnostic scans run at the end of April to determine the effectiveness of the chemotherapy treatments he underwent in February, March, and April, and the results were very positive! The tumors have not all disappeared, but some of them are gone, and the others seem fairly dormant. This is a big improvement since they determined in November that he would need another series of treatments, and for the time being, it is not necessary to surgically remove any of his liver. It also means that he gets to enjoy his summer without undergoing any more chemotherapy for a while. He'll continue to get diagnostic tests and they will assess his treatment options as time progresses, but this latest round of treatments has been quite successful.

Thanks again for your ongoing support for me and my dad! Now I'm off to packet pick-up for the Frederick Marathon Team Relay!

Training Totals

Training Totals:

Miles Run: 159.06

Time Spent Exercising: 33 hours, 14 minutes, 50 seconds

Dollars Raised: $2,200

Thanks to everyone who joined me on this journey and got involved in my cause!!

Half Marathon Rundown!!

I completed the National Half Marathon! Rather than trying to give a blow-by-blow description of the race, I’ll describe a few of the more memorable details.


I finished the race in 2 hours, 19 minutes, and 29 seconds (which put me in 3,453rd place). I had been hoping to finish under 2:15 and was determined to finish under 2:30, and I was able to run the whole way without stopping to walk, so I am pretty happy with my time. I thought I was completely exhausted in the final mile, but when I saw that finish line, I was able to sprint the rest of the way in. I guess we always have a little bit more inside us than we realize.


I crossed the finish line right next to a very athletic looking man running at my sprint pace… but he was finishing the complete marathon in that time. It’s not even human how fast these people can run.

We were 15 minutes away from home when I realized we had to turn back because I didn’t have my bib or my timing chip. This meant I was standing in line for the port-a-potty when the starting gun went off. Luckily, I was able to use the facilities and join the large crowd of runners who were still making their way to the starting line without any real delay.

Billy and I had mapped out a “spectators course” for him to get from place to place on the metro, so he was able to see me off at the start, cheer me on at mile 3.5 and mile 7, and watch me cross the finish line. My friends Erin and Danielle also came out to cheer me on, and although a slow train kept them from seeing me until the finish line, I was so excited to see all three of my fans after I finished!


It was pretty cold, but not too bad once I got running. I wish I’d brought my gloves, but otherwise, it was good weather- and sunny!

For motivation, I wrote the names of each person who made a donation on livestrong bracelets- it took 5 to fit all your names! I frequently looked down and spun the bands around to remind myself how many people had made sacrifices to support me. Around mile 10, when my legs got heavy, I started naming in my head one person who had encouraged me during each stride. I made a lot of strides before I ran out of supporters, and I think it helped me speed up! Thanks to all of you for being there with me every step of the way!


There were a lot of fun spectators along the way, some of them with really funny signs. They said things like, “Toenails are for wimps,” “Your feet only hurt from kicking so much ass,” “You run like a girl… and we like it!” and “Go mom! You’re awesome!” (colored and held by a little girl about 7 years old). Two guys were standing next to each other with signs that said something like “I might take up running” and “if it means I can stare at your ass.” There was a group of young city-dwellers with a table set up on the street and cups of “FREE BEER!” that they were passing out to the runners. A group of high-school age kids were blaring rap on a car stereo, dancing around, giving high fives to the runners, and yelling things like “You go girl! Get it!”

I saw one girl fall down (out of the race at mile one- ouch!), one man throw up (about a half mile after the free beer- coincidence?), and one woman fall off a bicycle while watching the runners. Not too bad, all things considered.

The race had about 7,000 participants total, which they said was twice as many as last year. This means they underestimated the number of cups they would need, so by the third water station, the only option I had was to drink water straight out of the jug. After passing on this the first time, I chose hydration over sanitation.


My body held up fairly well. I taped my feet and ankles, so they didn’t give me any trouble. My knees were starting to get sore by the end, but not sore enough to slow me down. Apparently Billy told the girls, “she will finish even if she’s running on bloody nubs.” Thankfully, it did not come to that! I’m a little worried about the soreness I’ll encounter tomorrow, though, because it’s already obvious that my ‘running muscles’ are extra tight as a result of not having run for a week and a half.

Ladies of DC, if you are single and looking for a man, I would advise getting involved in the running scene. There were a lot of fit, eligible looking men participating in the race, but the place to meet them is at the Fitness Expo the day before.

The route afforded the best view of the Capitol building. We ran right by it at the start, and then toward the end we ran straight toward it for over a mile. I also ran right by the Washington Monument, which Billy was able to capture in a picture. I forgot to look to my right to see the White House, but we continued all the way down to the Lincoln Memorial before the route turned north.


During the mile that I was running straight toward the Capitol, I was really tired, but right then the Livestrong song, “Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow,” came on my iPod. It reminded me why I was there, and for the duration of the song, I felt like I was caught inside some kind of inspirational music video. I started to get a little bit choked up, but luckily that feeling passed, because it’s hard to breath when you’re crying. : )

Right now, my donation total is $2175, or $166.03 per mile I ran today!! I can still accept donations up until a month after my event, so if you had hoped to donate but haven’t gotten the chance yet, please visit my fundraising page!

Thank you all for coming along on the journey with me. It has meant a lot to me, and my dad, and the rest of our family, that so many people have been so supportive. I said at the start of this that I wanted to find a way to channel my frustration about Dad’s diagnosis into a positive outlet, and thanks to everyone’s donations, the support you’ve given me will go directly toward supporting others whose lives have been impacted by cancer.

I’m not sure I’ll be able to go up and down the stairs tomorrow, and I’m sure that the maneuver of sitting down will be nearly impossible. But as “Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow,” says, I’m staring down the unknown, but one thing is certain; you could break my body, but you will never break my soul.

Two Weeks' Notice

Saturday's Run:

Distance: 12 miles

Time: 2:16:44

Pace: 11:20 per mile

So, originally my goal was to finish the half marathon at a 10 minute mile pace. As my training progresses, however, it's become apparent that this is an unrealistic goal. Now the only real goal is to cross the finish line with the feeling that I have nothing left in the tank. On yesterday's run, I had nothing left in the tank. Around mile 10, I was moving at the same pace as the 6 year old to my left on his Razr scooter, which the iPod tells me was about 12:30 per mile. This is practically walking. Before my run, I called my dad to see how his recovery was going from his latest treatment. He said, "I feel flat." He meant, "I feel like shit, and I have no energy."

At mile 10, I felt flat. Then I realized: I did not get a chemotherapy treatment two days ago. I made the conscious effort at that point to turn my feet over faster and push off harder in an attempt to cover more ground more quickly. The Nike+ says I finished at a pace of about 9 minutes per mile, so I succeeded in kicking my ass into gear. There was a woman ahead of me pushing a stroller that I was trying to catch. I didn't quite catch her, but I got close.

I am curious to see how fast I can run on race day. 13 miles is essentially the same as 12 in my book, so I am hoping I can finish under 2:30. There are several unpredictable variables, however. The race is two weeks away, and my runs between now and then are much shorter than the ones I've been logging, so my body should have time to recover, and I might be able to improve my speed. While running the race, I'll be able to take advantage of the water/gatorade stations, and there will be plenty of people cheering me on. There will also be more people to try to catch. There will also be bigger hills and a headphone prohibition. So we shall see.

Donations Update:

I've surpassed my goal, but I hope some of you who have been tuning in to this journey will still consider contributing. I think it would be fun if people started donating $1 or $2 per mile- $13 or $26 might not seem like a lot, but it adds up! If you're not in a position to contribute financially, though, I still appreciate all of the moral support you guys have given me throughout the process. I'll be thinking of you all on race day. Everyone who has said, "How's your training going?" is stored up in my motivation bank, from which I intend to make frequent withdrawals on March 21.

Back in the Saddle

Wednesday's Run:
Distance: 3.72 miles
Time: 38:17'
Pace: 10:16 per mile

Thursday's Run:

Distance: 6.76 miles
Time: 1:11:39
Pace: 10:35 per mile

The soreness in my foot continues to worry me a little, but I figured that skipping Saturday and Monday's run was as much of a break as I could afford to take with the race only a little more than two weeks away. I was nervous to start pounding the pavement on Wednesday, but I taped both of my feet/ankles and that has helped quite a bit. I've also been icing my feet after the runs, so my feet actually felt better this morning and yesterday morning than they did during the several days that I was trying to rest them. Dad says I'm getting old; I didn't have any of these foot troubles when I spent more time running longer distancs while training for the full marathon in 2003.

A college friend of mine recently told me that when her dad was battling testicular cancer, the hardest thing for him to deal with was feeling like his body was working against him after he'd done so much to try to make his body work for him. I know my dad has certainly experienced similar frustration, especially since it is his treatments that make him feel the most ill. While I was running yesterday, I was thinking about how my dad was in the hospital getting his most recent chemotherapy dosage, and how my running injuries have given me a small dose of understanding about what that must be like.

I know it's pretty selfish to feel sorry for yourself about your feet being sore when your dad is being forced to poison his body in an attempt to save it. But it still annoys me that my body isn't holding up as well as I'd like. The other night Billy and I got tickets to the Maryland vs. Wake Forest basketball game, and by the time we got into the arena, my feet were pretty sore from a long day of work and class. When I was a child, I accepted the fact that I wasn't athletically gifted. Since then, I've been content to be athletically mediocre at everything I've tried. But as I watched the players effortlessly performing maneuvers which would have caused me great pain, I couldn't help thinking:
It's just not fair.
Why are some bodies capable of withstanding so much more than mine can?
Who decided that he gets to have a healthy body and I get to have one that gives me trouble?
Does he even realize how lucky he is?
I wasn't jealous that the players could dunk, or that thousands of people were chanting their names; I was jealous that they could stop and start while running without wincing. It's a hard thing, coming to terms with the fact that the health of your body is outside your own control. I can only imagine how hard it is when your life is at stake.

Donations Update:
Mary and Gary, thanks so much for your generous contribution and the supportive words you've offered all along the way!