TERRY FOX COMPLEX
Autumn is upon us, yet, in Toronto it still feels like summer. Funny, because for much of summer it felt like Autumn.
The past few days have been filled with radiant sunshine, warm, perfectly moist but not humid air, and the beginnings of what promises to be a wonderful melange of colour dotting the southern Ontario landscape.
A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Terry Fox run while I was out on one of my favourite long run routes. It was moving to see such an eclectic and diverse group of people from all nations, age groups, and, I suppose, orientations, out to pay homage to the legacy of Terry Fox. It made me think about how unfair life can be; how unfair it was to Terry, yet how much his spirit has affected people in a positive way, even to this day, and even though his story ultimately ended tragically. There were children there, who could only have known about him via their parents, or grandparents, and that, in itself, is testimony to the kind of powerful symbol of hope he has become.
I remember driving up to my grandmother's country house in Gravenhurst and stumbling upon the Terry Fox entourage as he ran through the semi-tundran Muskoka countryside. It was a blazing hot summer day, the kind where infinite mirages glare off the tarmac every few hundred feet, framed on top by waves of humidity. I saw Terry, in his 80's style running shorts and t-shirt, doing his unique stride, upon which he ran probably a marathon a day, for God knows how long, but long enough to inspire a whole nation, long enough to send a message that has transcended generations. It is this image of him that sticks in my mind, juxtaposed with another one, of him climbing into an ambulance, forced to abandon his mission because the cancer had spread and made it impossible to go on. Life is suffering, said the Bhudda, and he was right that tragedy strikes everyone, and, in the end, none of us can escape the ultimate pain of leaving a life behind, leaving loved ones behind, exiting into the unknown. But what can any of us do but be fully present for each moment of the journey? There was nothing Terry could have done to change the inevitable, but he lived strong, he attempted the impossible, he fought with everything he had, and, in so doing, he became an icon.
Autumn, has also become the traditional time for an Ironman build, in my household and this year is no different. I find myself engaged in internal dialogue during 5 hour rides through the early fall countryside, and enjoying every minute. Literally, the time just goes by, with a lightness and as much as I appreciate that, I worry that this is a sign that things are just too damn good right now, and it can't possibly, won't ever, last forever, this strange and precarious balance I have struck on the tightrope of happiness right now. It won't last. Yet it is precious.
I am 46 years old. My cancer diagnosis is more than 20 years behind me. I rarely think about it, yet, on some visceral level, I know, that my history still affects and determines much of who and what I am, how I cope, the things I do, how I relate to and appreciate life. How could it be any other way??
Racing Ironmans and combining that with raising funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society has become a way of life in my house. It is an annual tradition, like Thanksgiving. In fact, it is very much a Thanksgiving ritual for me. I think my family understand that this is what I do, it is how I am. And I thank my lucky stars that my they allow it to happen (although my 4 year old is now drawing pictures of me tied up so that I can't go biking for too long).
So, as I forge my way into another Autumnal Ironman build, I feel simultaneously invigorated and comforted to be experiencing such highs through my body again, yet relishing in the sense of progress that only a sweet kind of over-familiarty with anything can bring. I LOVE DOING THIS. plain...and simple.
I am surely no Terry Fox. I haven't suffered an iota of what he suffered. I have not a thousandth of his endurance, at the end of all of this, I am sure that no future generations will run through the Don Valley on a Sunday morning in tribute to my legacy. Rather, I think, I am part of the wave that he created, a mode, if you will, an extension of the attribute that is Terry Fox (ok, I am deeply into Spinoza these days).
But regardless of what I am, or what this Ironman Arizona 2014 will become for me, I am, once again, raising funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in tribute of the fact, that without the knowledge and care that went into my treatment, many years ago, I just simply would not be here. And, because I envision a world where no parents ever have to endure the unfathomable heartache of having a child who is affected by blood cancer.
Please donate:
https://secure.e2rm.com/registrant/FundraisingPage.aspx?registrationID=2620728&langPref=en-CA#&panel1-1
The past few days have been filled with radiant sunshine, warm, perfectly moist but not humid air, and the beginnings of what promises to be a wonderful melange of colour dotting the southern Ontario landscape.
A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Terry Fox run while I was out on one of my favourite long run routes. It was moving to see such an eclectic and diverse group of people from all nations, age groups, and, I suppose, orientations, out to pay homage to the legacy of Terry Fox. It made me think about how unfair life can be; how unfair it was to Terry, yet how much his spirit has affected people in a positive way, even to this day, and even though his story ultimately ended tragically. There were children there, who could only have known about him via their parents, or grandparents, and that, in itself, is testimony to the kind of powerful symbol of hope he has become.
I remember driving up to my grandmother's country house in Gravenhurst and stumbling upon the Terry Fox entourage as he ran through the semi-tundran Muskoka countryside. It was a blazing hot summer day, the kind where infinite mirages glare off the tarmac every few hundred feet, framed on top by waves of humidity. I saw Terry, in his 80's style running shorts and t-shirt, doing his unique stride, upon which he ran probably a marathon a day, for God knows how long, but long enough to inspire a whole nation, long enough to send a message that has transcended generations. It is this image of him that sticks in my mind, juxtaposed with another one, of him climbing into an ambulance, forced to abandon his mission because the cancer had spread and made it impossible to go on. Life is suffering, said the Bhudda, and he was right that tragedy strikes everyone, and, in the end, none of us can escape the ultimate pain of leaving a life behind, leaving loved ones behind, exiting into the unknown. But what can any of us do but be fully present for each moment of the journey? There was nothing Terry could have done to change the inevitable, but he lived strong, he attempted the impossible, he fought with everything he had, and, in so doing, he became an icon.
Autumn, has also become the traditional time for an Ironman build, in my household and this year is no different. I find myself engaged in internal dialogue during 5 hour rides through the early fall countryside, and enjoying every minute. Literally, the time just goes by, with a lightness and as much as I appreciate that, I worry that this is a sign that things are just too damn good right now, and it can't possibly, won't ever, last forever, this strange and precarious balance I have struck on the tightrope of happiness right now. It won't last. Yet it is precious.
I am 46 years old. My cancer diagnosis is more than 20 years behind me. I rarely think about it, yet, on some visceral level, I know, that my history still affects and determines much of who and what I am, how I cope, the things I do, how I relate to and appreciate life. How could it be any other way??
Racing Ironmans and combining that with raising funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society has become a way of life in my house. It is an annual tradition, like Thanksgiving. In fact, it is very much a Thanksgiving ritual for me. I think my family understand that this is what I do, it is how I am. And I thank my lucky stars that my they allow it to happen (although my 4 year old is now drawing pictures of me tied up so that I can't go biking for too long).
So, as I forge my way into another Autumnal Ironman build, I feel simultaneously invigorated and comforted to be experiencing such highs through my body again, yet relishing in the sense of progress that only a sweet kind of over-familiarty with anything can bring. I LOVE DOING THIS. plain...and simple.
I am surely no Terry Fox. I haven't suffered an iota of what he suffered. I have not a thousandth of his endurance, at the end of all of this, I am sure that no future generations will run through the Don Valley on a Sunday morning in tribute to my legacy. Rather, I think, I am part of the wave that he created, a mode, if you will, an extension of the attribute that is Terry Fox (ok, I am deeply into Spinoza these days).
But regardless of what I am, or what this Ironman Arizona 2014 will become for me, I am, once again, raising funds for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in tribute of the fact, that without the knowledge and care that went into my treatment, many years ago, I just simply would not be here. And, because I envision a world where no parents ever have to endure the unfathomable heartache of having a child who is affected by blood cancer.
Please donate:
https://secure.e2rm.com/registrant/FundraisingPage.aspx?registrationID=2620728&langPref=en-CA#&panel1-1
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