The Sweet Dream

The other night, a few of us gathered together to toast the memory of our friend, TNT teammate, and fallen cancer warrior Ed Stone.  We went around the table and we each said something about Ed, maybe a memory we had of this great guy.  Here is the story that I related.

When I walked in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure in 2011, I had well over 100 people make a donation to me.  Everyone who made a donation got an email from the Komen organization a couple of weeks before the walk.  The email talked about how they could give the person that they donated to a "Sweet Dream."  For an additional ten dollar donation, they could have a chocolate and a note delivered to said participant.

So a few days before the walk, I got an email saying that someone had donated a "Sweet Dream," and that I should check the camp "post office" at the end of the first day of walking to collect it.  I thought that was pretty cool, and wondered who among my many donors would have done this.

At the end of the first day, soaked and tired, I trudged through the mud of camp to collect my "Sweet Dream."  Of course, it was from Ed and Leslie, with a kind note about what I was doing in my sister's memory.  I very much appreciated and was touched by their thoughtfulness.  At that point in time, Ed's left leg had essentially been ruined by a failed attempt to destroy the melanoma in that leg.  He was in a lot of pain and misery, struggling to get around with a walker.  These once strong legs, which had once propelled him 100 miles on a bike and 26.2 miles on foot, could barely get him across a room.  Yet here he was, thinking of others, as was Leslie.

It was a gesture that was so typical of this couple.  I will never forget their kindness, and as I savored the chocolate that night and prepared for sweet dreams in my little pink tent, I said a little "thank you" that there are people in this world like Ed and Leslie, even though there are not enough of them.

Five Years Ago

I was thinking the other day how five years ago, not quite to the day, I did my third and last marathon.  This one was the PF Changs Arizona Marathon in Phoenix (mostly).  It was my third Team in Training marathon, all as a walker, and I was celebrating five years in remission the month before.  I still remember some of my teammates having a little ceremony that day in training and giving me five purple and green balloons!  It was also the first marathon I did as a grandpa, and the first I did knowing that my sister Ann had breast cancer.  Her name was the first that I wrote on top of my race shirt.  Now, she is gone, coming up on two years, and that is hard still to believe at times.

Also gone is five more years of my life, just like that.  Since that race, I've done two more TNT events, this time as a runner - walker (a "runalker" as I say).  Both of these were half marathons, and I added a third half marathon last year, the Shamrock Half, on my own to celebrate surviving cancer ten years that May.  Even though my left knee has not been normal since then, I don't regret it because I made a statement for my 10 year mark.

But I was reflecting on how our lives just move along.  Five years, gone by just like that!  I wonder sometime if I will do another marathon.  I could maybe do one as a power walker again, and maybe as a runner - walker - but only if I can figure out what is going on with this knee.  It hurts a good bit even after a moderate length walk, or a hike.  Not excruciating pain, but pain that should not be there.  I was doing some one legged squats last night, and my left knee hurt a lot with each one, my right knee not at all.  So something is still not right.  I think I need to go to another doctor and see what they think.  Which reminds me (as my friend Mindy did last night), it is also time for an annual checkup with my oncologist.

A small group of us got together for a beer last night, to toast Ed and what he meant to us.  Most of them are actively involved in training for a TNT event right now.  And it made me realize a little more how much I would like to solve this knee pain and get out there in purple at least one more time before I get too old.  I'd love to think that I have one more marathon in my legs (and knees)!

One More Fallen Cancer Warrior

When I first signed up for Team in Training, exactly eight years ago, each event team was assigned its own patient honoree.  Our team's (Midnight Sun Marathon Team) honored patient was a young man named Ed Stone.  He had survived leukemia at age 19 with a bone marrow transplant from his sister.  At one point, things looked bad enough that they had a moment of silence for him at his old high school football stadium.  But he pulled through, and survived another bout with some kind of other cancer a dozen years later.  Shortly after our training started early in 2005, we learned that Ed had melanoma - his third cancer, and he wasn't even 40 yet!  But the melanoma was cut out and Ed resumed triathlon training for his own spring event with Team in Training.  Within a few years, he was the first participant in Virginia to earn the coveted "TNT Triple Crown:" at least one marathon or half marathon, a triathlon of any distance, and a "Century" bike ride.  I think that he did about 10 to 15 TNT events over the years.

Then, in July or August of 2009, while getting ready for the Rock 'N Roll Half Marathon as a family team with his wife, sister, and nephew, Ed discovered melanoma in the ball of his left foot.  He went ahead and did the race, and later had a big chunk of his foot removed.  And periodically, he had more increasingly awful surgeries and chemotherapy treatments.  One of these ruined his entire left leg.  This former athlete, who did marathons, a half iron man, and 100 mile bike rides, continued to try to recover.  He was recently back in the pool, and even trying to ride a stationary bike.  He always had a smile, and was not a complainer, although he had more to justify complaining than did most people.  He was a true cancer warrior, and he was an incrEDible inspiration to so many people.  Just a few months ago, Ed walked about 2.5 miles in Light the Night.  It was difficult, but he did it.

I learned today that Ed lost his long fight early this morning.  He was 43.  He leaves behind a young widow, grieving parents, and many friends.  He inspired us all, and touched so many lives.  He did everything he could, with courage and grit, to keep on living, but it was not to be.

Rest well in peace, Ed - you will be missed by so many, my friend!  You gave it your all.  You were an amazing human being.

Read my tribute to Ed here.

Things 61 Year Old Men Should Not Do - Part 1.

What things should 61 year old men not do?  Well, for starters, they should not carry or lift heavy, bulky objects.

A week ago, we decided that it was time to replace our 15 year old TV.  It still works just fine, but it seems so out of date, what with "plasma" and "high definition" and "3-D."  So we went to Best Buy, looked around a bit, and made a purchase.  It will be delivered in another week, at which time they will also collect our old 31 inch Sony.  In the meantime, we bought a nice piece of furniture for the new television to go on, and that was delivered last Friday.  So we had to move the old TV and the entertainment center that it was on out of the way.  We decided to move the old piece of furniture upstairs for our backup TV.

My wife got the brilliant idea to move our love seat in front of the TV and lower the television on to it, then push the love seat back where it belongs.  When I say "brilliant idea," I am not being sarcastic.  This TV is huge.  Picture any two people you run with, and it probably outweighs them.  We had some interest from the Washington Redskins about picking up the TV and using it in their weight room, but they decided to pass, figuring it would just injure their players.  So my wife's idea was a lot better than mine, which was for us to pick up the TV, walk across the living room, and place it on the couch.  Had we attempted that, the TV undoubtedly would have dropped onto the floor, or onto our feet, and would have crashed through the floor, through the concrete slap, into the earth's crust, and popped out somewhere in China!

We positioned the love seat, each got on one side to the TV, and hoisted it off the entertainment center.  A millisecond later, despite our best efforts, we dropped it - screen side down - on the love seat.  That is when I told my wife "Your idea was brilliant!"  I mentally pictured what our living room would have looked like if we had used my idea.  Before I got the partial rotator cuff tear about five or six years ago, I had really decent upper body strength and worked out a lot (which was apparently what caused the tear).  Now, while I may not look like the proverbial 99 pound weakling, I am apparently no longer up to hoisting televisions the size of small automobiles.

We slid the love seat easily - well, somewhat easily - across the floor and positioned a coffee table under the edge of the television set so that the cat would not jump on the TV and tip it on to the floor.  Then, we turned our attention to the entertainment center.  It is not huge, and weighs perhaps 80 or 90 pounds.  But it is big enough that there are no two points where one can grab it with a good grip.  Plus it has this base that swivels, and two glass doors, one of which popped out and crashed to the floor just as we began to wrestle the piece of furniture upstairs.  I will never understand how the glass didn't break.  We somehow put the thing down, and I picked up the glass door and put it and its companion aside.  Then we resumed the climb up the staircase.

People have had an easier time climbing Mount Rainier than we had getting this thing up a flight of stairs!  The base kept swiveling around, throwing us off balance and blocking progress.  There was no good way to grab the thing with a solid grip.  I had the lead, going up backwards.  My wife's job was to hang on to the other end, and go with me as I twisted and tugged the cumbersome beast up one stair at a time.  I was bending awkwardly and kept having to twist my lower body, and then kind of move back semi-explosively (there is nothing really explosive about using one's muscles at my age, but this was close).  We finally got the bulky piece of furniture up to the top, and I was breathing like I just lost to Mr. Bolt by 10 seconds in the 200 meter dash.  But within 10-15 minutes, we had moved the thing into the spare TV room, moved the old entertainment center out, and had everything hooked up properly.  "Not so bad," thought I.

Then, within 30 minutes, I realized I could barely walk.  My left hip was so painful with each step.  Instead of walking like a 61 year old man, I was hobbling like I was 101.  "Man," I thought, "I've moved myself half a dozen times.  I've helped friends move another dozen times - heavy, nasty stuff, working hard all day.  But move one piece of furniture now, and I can barely move.  I guess my moving myself (and friends) days are over."  I took three Ibuprofen, relaxed a bit, and it the morning I could move almost normally.  Two more "Vitamin I" later at work, and I was fine.

But I did learn than men my age best leave the heavy lifting to someone else.  Either that, or I seriously need to hit the gym a lot more than I do if I want to be able to do this type of thing.

A New Year!

Wow, 2013 - How'd that happen?  I look back on last year - all these plans I had.  Very few of them accomplished.  But the main thing is, I have now survived and been in remission from cancer for more than 10 years.  That fact alone trumps anything else, even though I didn't accomplish most of my racing goals for 2012.

Looking ahead, I am not making resolutions.  I do have some fitness and "racing for a cure" goals for 2013, however.  I also have some hiking goals, and you can view them here on my other blog.

I own three pairs of blue jeans.  One of them fits fairly comfortably, but not as well as they did before, say, Thanksgiving.  The other two fit about as comfortably as a hippopotamus trying to squeeze into a phone booth.  Just a few years ago, I could wear all three.  So here is one goal for the year - fit in all three pairs again.

A second major goal is to at the least continue with walking and hiking, if not running.  If you keep up with my other - and in the last year or so, more active - blog, Oh, To Be Hiking, you know that I have done pretty well keeping hiking alive in my life.  So I will set a tangible and measurable goal - average at least 13,000 steps a day.  Bonus points if I exceed an average of 14,000 steps.  Whipped cream and a cherry on the top if I reach an average of 15,000 steps daily.

Here is a very worthy third goal for the year - figure out once and for all what is going on with my left knee.  I see two major steps: (1) get back to my physical therapy routine religiously and see if that makes a difference and (2) if there is no change in a couple of months, see a new doctor and maybe get an MRI to figure out what is going on.

A fourth goal - determine, based on the knee issues, if I can do Team in Training in 2013 after skipping it for the past two years (although in 2011, I did walk 60 miles in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure, so it is not like I sat on a couch full-time.)  For example, I bet I could at the least walk a half marathon.  My preference would be to run, but walking for a cure beats sitting on my butt for no cure.

A fifth goal for 2013 - get back in an upper body routine.  I should be doing upper body workouts 2-3 days a week, but never seem to find the time.  When I do for a while, I feel better and then slack off.  Of course, the last time I was really working out a lot was about four months ago, and my left elbow hurt like hell.  I think it was tendinitis.  I stopped entirely for several months and the pain slowly receded.  Time to try again.

Finally, I'd like to update this blog every week even if it is just me musing about something.  I rarely get comments and I am not sure if anyone reads it or not, but writing more often would be good for me, if not for the world at large.

Hmmm, these are starting to sound like resolutions.  Uh-oh!

A New Star Shinging Brightly

Tonight on the way home, I listened to one of my favorite carols on the radio: "Silent Night."  It made me think of my sister Ann - Mimi as we called her then - singing that carol as a little girl.  This will be the second Christmas without her since she lost her four year battle with breast cancer.

I wrote this in her memory last May, on the one year anniversary of her death, and decided to post it today.  If you have lost someone you love recently, and mourn them, maybe their star is out there shining near my sister's.

“A New Star Shining Brightly”


You were a daughter and a sister, a mother and a friend;
Whenever someone needed help, your hand you would extend;
You created lovely landscapes; you were an engineer,
Bringing good things to life in your distinguished career

You loved your peaceful mountain home, and the creatures of the earth
You loved a great joke or pun, and would laugh with glee and mirth
You had dreams of your retired life, and rewards for job well done:
To look on Tremper Mountain, aglow from setting sun.

I remember still that day at work when I got your shocking news
Of cancer diagnosis, for I’d walked in those same shoes
I was so sure you would become a survivor just like me
But cancer, it had crueler plans, and ‘twas not meant to be

Remember, Ann, when we were kids, how we would laugh and play?
Not once did it occur to me that you’d be gone some day
But high up in the Heavens, there shines a brand new star
Whose brilliant light beams down upon us brightly from afar

You fought so hard, gave it your all, so brave and tough and strong
Enduring such an awful fight, so difficult and long
You inspired each one of us with your spirit and your grit
Cancer may have won this war but not because you quit

In two-thousand eleven, on the thirtieth of May,
You took your final labored breath, a sad Memorial Day.
To any angel listening, when next you see my sister,
Please tell her how much she is loved, and how much we have missed her.

Remember, Ann, when we were kids, how we would laugh and play?
Not once did it occur to me that you’d be gone some day
But high up in the Heavens, there shines a brand new star
Whose brilliant light beams down upon us brightly from afar

Oh Ann, I miss you every day, and remember you with love
But a new star’s shining brightly in the Heavens far above

Art Ritter
May 30, 2012

Hey! Shouldn't I be in Hawaii?

Well, here it is, December 9, 2012, the date I thought for years I would running the Honolulu Marathon to celebrate 10 years in remission.  And here I sit, in my home in Virginia, drinking a mug of tea and updating my blog - an increasingly rare event.  (updating my blog, not drinking hot tea.)  So what happened?

I had lofty goals for 2012, ten years after cancer.  I wanted to run the Shamrock Half Marathon and the Monument Avenue 10K.  I wanted to consider TNT again.  I had the idea of forming one of those 48 hour, 200 mile relay teams - maybe of cancer survivors - and doing a relay race.  And the crown jewel was to have been today, my 10 remission date: the Honolulu Marathon.

Ah, the best laid plans!  Well, I did the Shamrock and the Monument races, tying my personal record in the 10K to the second.  But in the process, I have caused pain that would not go away in my left knee.  I stopped running, which helped some, but didn't fix the problem.  I did PT religiously, which helped some more, but didn't fix the problem.  I did PT a lot less religously, which didn't help at all.  Even walking and hiking ends up causing some pain - but not nearly as much as running.  I dropped the idea of TNT.  I dropped the idea of a relay team.  And as the year progressed and my knee pain stayed and my bank account balance did not grow, I slowly came to terms that I would be not going to Hawaii.

I've never been to Hawaii.  I had decided that if I went, it was not going to just be for the race weekend.  I wanted to do a 10-12 day trip, culminating in the marathon.  And you know, that takes serious money, money I am not willing to borrow.  I wanted cash in the bank for this trip.  There is a lot of competition for that money.  And with the knee pain, it seemed foolhardy to try to train for and run a marathon.  And I was not willing to go to Hawaii and not run.  So since I wasn't training, I wasn't setting money aside for the trip.  If my knee had been good, I would have found a way to set the money aside, but it wasn't, so I didn't.  Therefore, my goal of being in that race today faded as the year churned by.

Instead, I celebrated 10 years remission this morning by making a donation to a friend doing Team in Training once again.  She and I were partners for much of the rainy Midnight Sun Marathon in Anchorage going on eight years ago.  And yesterday, I gave the mission moment to the local run team, and I walked with the walkers.  That felt really good.  It was a very small team but the typical good bunch of folks that always seems to gather to do Team in Training.

It feels a little sad not to have accomplished so many of my lofty goals this year.  Would I have done so without the knee pain?  I'll never know.  But on the whole, I am just happy to be here on God's green earth 10 years after having had cancer, and to say, for the 10th time, "Remission Accomplished!"  That is just going to have to be good enough.  But I know that later today, as the runners start moving in far-away Honolulu, I will feel a little wistful.

Thinking about Team in Training

I've been thinking about TNT lately.  It has been more than two years - going on  three, actually - since I have done TNT.  Last year I did the Susan Komen 3-Day in memory of my sister.  Earlier this year, I ran the Shamrock Half Marathon to celebrate nearly 10 years surviving cancer.  Some of my TNT friends were in the race, and since then, I have donated to several people, and plan on doing so again.  And of course, I walked in Light the Night in October, and raised almost $2,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

I can't quite seem to get past this knee pain that came, especially in my left knee, during the Shamrock training.  As a result of that, I have not run since March.  I've been walking a lot, and hiking, and even that makes my knee hurt some.  But the pain has lessened without the running.  I know I need to get back to the intensive exercises the doctor gave me, and do them religiously.  But I am not sure if running is a good idea anymore.  Will it continue to make my knees worse and lead to problems walking?

I know I could walk a half marathon without any real trouble.  I've gone for hikes in rugged terrain, carrying a pack, of nearly that long.  What I could not do right now is walk a half marathon with any kind of speed.  My walking speed has slowed down to something south of 15 minutes per mile but well north of 14.  So I might be able to walk a half marathon in maybe 3:15 or 3:20.

I keep wondering: should I go back to Team and Training and be a walker again?  Should I take up biking?  There are a number of reasons why biking is unappealing to me, but for one thing, I get a lot of joy going places using my own two feet.  All I know is, I have been thinking about TNT a lot lately and wondering how to best get reinvolved.  It has been a while since I raced for a cure, and I think it might be nearly time to do it again.

I walked with my friend Lelia - one of my first TNT walk coaches - last night and was chatting with her about TNT a little.  She does not want to do the fundraising.  That does not bother me as much, but for me, it is coming up with an event that I can do without crippling myself.  I have a lot to think about.  In the mean time, I will be speaking to the run / walk team Saturday and give the mission moment, the weekend of my 10 year remission anniversary.  It is always an honor to see such a dedicated group, and to talk with them.  And I also will walk the walk with them in my brand new New Balance shoes.

My Silent Mile Message

On Saturday, our local TNT groups will do the Silent Mile once again.  I wish I could be there, but I cannot be.  So I wrote something for Kate to read to the group.  Here it is.  If you, too, are engaged in Team in Training (or some other cure for cancer fund raising) right now, then this is for you as well - so, THANK YOU!


Remission Accomplished! In December 2002, nearly exactly 10 years ago, this was the message I received from my oncologist. For anyone going through treatment for any type of cancer, this is the news they want so badly to hear. Doctors are reluctant to say “cured,” but they will say “remission,” or “NED” (No Evidence of Disease). These were among the sweetest words I have ever heard – sweeter than if I were to learn that I had won the half a billion dollars Power Ball this week (although that would be a close second).

Chemotherapy is tough. In my life to date, it is the hardest thing I have gone through. It was tougher than my three marathons and three half marathons – even the marathon in Alaska in a pouring, cold rain with mosquitos the size of small airplanes. And keep in mind that compared to some other cancer patients that I have heard about, my cancer treatment was like a first-class vacation on a tropical island – complete with one of those drinks with the little umbrella sticking in it.

I am very lucky to have reached 10 years remission from Hodgkin’s lymphoma, and I plan to keep on going. I feel like I have a lot of living yet to do before I see my last sunset and hike my last trail. Yet, I know that there are no guarantees. I know people who say, “If I had to go through chemo again, I would not do it.” I don’t feel that way. I would not want to do it again, of course, but I would. But if I ever have to, I hope that it will be easier the next time around because of people like you – people raising money not just for a cure, but for a cure that doesn’t make you feel so ill that sometimes you don’t focus on getting through the day, but just through the next minute. Where your stomach does flips so spectacular that a Cirque de Soleil performer would turn green with envy. Where your brain is so foggy that the light from an explosion from a Chinese fireworks factory wouldn’t cut through the fog. Where you go into the ER in the middle of the night, and the doctor suggests that dynamite just might be required to get things moving again. (“Give me the paper to sign and light the fuse!” I told him).

From this cancer survivor, and on behalf of the thousands going through cancer therapy every day, thank you for what you do. Thank you for having our backs! Thank you for racing for a cure!

Lighting the Night for Faith and Judy!

After a long silence, I can finally post about something I have done in the Racing for a Cure arena!  This past Saturday night, I walked in Light the Night (LTN) to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, to support cancer survivors, and to remember those that didn't survive.  Two of the latter were my friends Faith and Judy, both gone well before their times because of these awful and ruthless diseases.  Faith died from Hodgkin's lymphoma - the same thing I've now survived 10 years - just before three years after diagnosis.  She was just 43.  Judy died from multiple myeloma, one month to the day from her diagnosis.  She was 65, having reached the so-called golden years, which for her, were not so golden.

In 2009, Faith - while still undergoing chemotherapy - walked in Light the Night.  Her team, Faith's Hope, raised over $10,000.  I met her in person that night, and was a member of that team.  She was so proud of her accomplishments to fight back and to help others.  Now, Faith is gone, but her cause and memory live on.  Her sister Leigh formed a LTN team called "Faith's Hope - 2012," and we walked to honor the memory of her sister, and many others.  I wore a photo of Judy and Faith, and Judy's husband Bill, himself undergoing chemotherapy right now for colon cancer, walked with me and wore his late wife's photo.  Faith's beloved dog Henry, now lovingly cared for by Leigh, walked along with us.

Our team did well, raising more than $6,000 (which includes some checks that have not yet posted).  Here is my LTN page in case you want more information (or even want to make a contribution).

Hurricane Sandy disrupted and destroyed many things, but it held off long enough for us to get our walk in.  I am posting a few photos from the night.  My camera was having problems with its flash sometimes, so I didn't get a lot of these.

Before the walk, we had a remembrance ceremony to remember those who have passed away.  So many have been lost while we race for a cure.  I included my sister Ann in my thoughts.  I wrote a message to her on a paper flower and tied it to the trellis that they had set up.  I miss her every day.  These guys piped a moving rendition of "Amazing Grace."

Bill carries a gold balloon as someone who lost a loved one to a blood cancer.  He and I both carry white balloons as cancer survivors.  Bill had chemo three days before and I was concerned that he would be unable to do the walk, but he hung in there to the end.  He went home very tired.

I posted this so you can see our team banner.  Faith lives on in the love and memories of family and friends.