Back in an Hour

Oy, my aching back! I don't know why my back insists on reminding me it's here. I'm very well aware that I cannot do stuff without it, but yet, it keeps barking and barking. Stupid back, I hear ya... now will you please shut up??

I'm quickly becoming infatuated with a TV show on CBC in Canada called "The Hour". I like to think that if I were to produce my own intelligent TV show, this show would be the result. Pulling in guests such as Vicente Fox and Jean Chretien, the show screams political moxy, yet tempers politics with entertainment from music, TV and film.

Each brief interview is very thought-provoking. It is obvious that either host George Stroumboulopoulos or his writers spend a lot of time doing their homework...

The show, or more likely "Strombo", developed a cool idea called "Operation Disc Drop". The concept is much like the "random acts of kindness" concept, except instead of doing something kind, you put together a mix CD (formerly known as a mix tape!) and drop it off in a random location. Afterwards, you go to the show website and comment where you dropped the disc and what the tracklisting was.

The person who picks up the disc listens to it, and has their world opened to new music. After they listen to it, they are encouraged to pass the CD along for others to hear.

As George mentioned, people put their hearts and souls into these CDs. It is a way for strangers ot open up and give of themselves - thus the reference to random acts of kindness.

The holiday season always puts me in a contemplative mood. I am able to associate random things with other random things, to see glimpses of a bigger picture. "The Hour" helps stimulate some of those thoughts. Music is always good for that, too.

I've heard that my oldest nephew is beginning to enjoy rock and roll now. I've been considering making him a mix CD. But now, Operation Disc Drop gives me the excuse to do that.

I'll just drop it in a not-so-random place!

Unser Corporaten Weinachtsfesten

Sheryl and I went to our work Christmas parties last weekend. They were very different from each other.

We went to Sheryl's first, where we were eagerly greeted by the woman who hired Sheryl, and whom Sheryl has known for years. This was the first time I met any of them, but I quickly felt comfortable.

During the course of eats and drinks, I was able to meet all of the people I had been hearing about for the last three or four months - and in some cases, I was meeting the people Sheryl had talked about since I first met her.

These were the people who came to me and told me how Sheryl is so happy now. Naturally, I told them that it was because she was working with them again.

There was plenty of flattery to go around.

It's strange to me when I realize that I have influenced people and events.

There are things I want to do in my life, and two of them are inspire people to dream and accomplish great things in their lives. Another is to make Sheryl happy.

Realizing those things, such as when someone tells me that Sheryl is very happy, or that they were thinking of me while riding a tough stretch of road on their bike, makes me stop and take note. I certainly do not take them for granted, and appreciate the opportunity to enhance someone's life.

We laughed, talked, ate, then made our early exit.

Off we went to my Christmas party at Dave and Buster's.

Contrary to Sheryl's, we caught the tail end of dinner in a quiet room, sitting with people I didn't really know.

Following dessert and a little speech by the big kahuna, we ran off to play games.

Being little fish in a big pond, Sheryl and I meandered about with little contact with my co-workers. We played a few games, then gave away our tickets and game cards.

As we were getting our coats to leave, we ran into my boss and his wife. We had a nice conversation, thanked him for helping me retain my job, and we took off.

Yep. That was basically it.

It had been a long day for each of us, but it was definitely worth it to get some face time.

And it's always nice to be flattered, eh?

History Repeats Itself

My dad was born on December 8, 1942. He arrived on this Earth one year after the U.S. and Britain declared war on Japan, which launched the U.S. into World War II.

48 years later, on March 14, 1991, one year after Mikhail Gorbachev became president of the Russian congress, my dad passed away.

On December 8, 1991, dad's first post-passing birthday, I was poised to have a sad and crappy day. I missed my dad (as I still do!), and I hoped that my emotions wouldn't put a damper on my first corporate Christmas party.

I was working at General Dynamics Services Company (now defunct), and was really proud to be going to a corporate Christmas party. I remembered a photo of my dad and mom taken sometime in the 1970s at one of my dad's corporate Christmas parties, and I was tickled to be following in his footsteps.

Dad was smiling upon me that day. I ended up having a blast sitting with my date, my boss (Rick), his fiancee' (Diane) and other co-workers and friends.

I mention this because tomorrow is December 8, 2007... my dad's 65th birth anniversary. It will also be 16 years since that first corporate Christmas party. As a testament to history repeating itself, Sheryl and I will be attending both of our work Christmas parties tonight.

And tomorrow?

We're invited to cocktails and hors d'oeuvres with Rick and Diane - my boss from General Dynamics Services Company, and his wife (formerly mentioned fiancee') .

Strange days indeed - most peculiar, mama (John Lennon, d. December 8, 1980).

I'm not hating... or am I?

"Hate" is a strong word. I have come to a point in my life where I do not use that word seriously. Except in one case:

Man, I hate winter!

I do like the snow - on my own terms. This means that I'm inside, nice and toasty, watching the snow fall, knowing that it will melt in the morning, and I won't have to shovel it!

Other than that, winter can bug off!

What is good about freezing your ass off? Yes, you can bundle up to keep warm, unlike the summer heat, where you can peel off all of your clothes and still be burning up. However, I can't stand being cold. Period. It's so frigging annoying!

And don't even get me going about driving in wintry weather... oy!

So I want to be a snowbird for the rest of my life. If not a snowbird, then a permanent Southern resident.

Sheryl loves watching "House Hunters" on HGTV. Yesterday, they were looking for houses in Savannah. Man, I would love a house like those!! Add to that an extended cycling season, and what's not to like??

I don't know if I'll ever do it. Things are going so well for me right now that I won't even seriously consider it. But I gotta admit... for at least a 4 month stretch every year, it sure sounds like a good idea!!

When I Have a Buncha Dollars...

For a couple of years now, Sheryl and I have talked about what we would do when we won the lottery. Many people would use it as an opportunity to do all of the things they always wanted to do. They would quit their job and buy a house in warmer climates, traveling all over the world.

The weird thing for Sheryl and I is that we are extremely blessed to love our jobs. Our first thought after winning the lottery would be "how can we help other people?"

We do have ideas in mind for a cancer foundation, but this morning, after reading a bit of cycling news, I had a different idea.

Recently, it was announced that Saul Raisin, despite his incredible journey back to life following a horrible bike crash, will be unable to race again. He does, however, still want to work towards bringing awareness to brain injuries and such.

Apparently, there are a few cycling teams that are folding this year as well, and in addition to the many auto workers out of a job, there are a bunch of professional cyclists left without a team.

So when we win the lottery, why don't we start our own professional cycling team?

Now, I don't know how exactly it would work, but we could bring Saul on board to coach the development squad, and he could continue his work with his foundation. In fact, all of our riders would be required to do volunteer work - whether with our foundation, Saul's foundation or whatever. Naturally, we would encourage them to work with our own foundation, but we should give them the choice. After all, they will need passion, and passion is easier to come by when you make the choices.

One of the sweet benefits of being team owners and sponsors is that Sheryl and I could attend whatever race we wanted, and associate with all sorts of riders. While attending the Tour de France, we could rub elbows with Lance or Eddy Merckx. While at the Giro d'Italia, we could swap fashion tips with Mario Cipollini.

Not only that, but we could learn training and health tips. We could learn where the coolest rides in the world are. WE COULD BE ON TV! We could have access to the sweetest bikes available, and drink espresso with Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen.

Of course, we would plug our foundation. After word got out about our dream and devotion, we would draw interest from some of the best cancer doctors in the world, and they would benefit from our affiliation.

We could do an annual fundraiser, and bring in professional and amateur racers to the velodrome at Bloomer. Because we'd already have lights installed, we could incorporate European-style 6-day races for both the pros and the amateurs.

Can you just see it?? We couldn't count how many people would benefit from this!

Now how about a team name?

Miles to Go?
Cummings Cycling?
Sheryl's Speedsters?

How about a motto?

Domination for a cause
The team with a strong foundation
Our drugs won't make you faster, they will cure you
EPO is for sissies.
We believe in Procrit and Neupogen - not performance enhancers!

Remember kiddies... if you're gonna dream - and you should! - dream big!

Time Trials and Tribulations

Yesterday evening, I had a phenomenal ride on my trainer. I rode 12 miles while averaging 20 miles per hour.

You may wonder: What is the significance? Why am I continuing to read this? What is Matt's point?

In 1999, I was 33 tears old, and began training to pedal my bike from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska. The thought of riding so many miles terrified me, so I trained "like the dickens". At 6'3" and 270+ pounds, I was sort of the anti-cyclist.

As time went on, I felt strong and powerful on my bike. I was riding 30 miles a day on my trainer, four days a week, averaging 20ish miles per hour. Yep, my training rides of 30 miles would take me approximately 90 minutes.

I was never much of an athlete, and was always overweight. So I got to the point where I began to wonder if I was in the best shape of my life. Granted, if I had trained this hard between the ages of 20 and 30, this thought would have never entered my mind.

Instead, however, most of my exercise in my 20s consisted of beer curls and pizza runs.

It's no secret that people's health generally heads downhill at a certain point. The nice thing is that I was never in prime shape to understand my potential. Instead, I was hitting peak shape at 33 years old.

The following year, I recognized that I had some shortcomings in my cycling ability. Since I had signed up to ride from Missoula to Billings, Montana, I knew I had to train a little harder. After that ride, at 34 years old, I was in the best shape of my life.

Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease.

My chemotherapy and radiation treatments were brutal. I pretty much lost all of the conditioning I had had. However, because I had been in such great shape to start with, I was able to survive the treatments a little better than average.

The problem with cancer treatments, however, is that there are short AND long term potential side effects.

So when I got back on the bike, and my riding wasn't near as strong as it had once been, I began to ask myself some questions:

Is it because of treatment?
Have I become lazy?
Is it a result of being 40?

To be honest, I don't know.

I do know that endurance cycling - and cycling in general - demands some level of suffering. I used to enjoy pushing myself to the limits of my body and tweaking out an extra little bit of suffering. But now, since I suffered through chemo and radiation, I don't want to impose that much suffering on myself again.

In addition, during the last couple of years, I have developed a painful nerve problem along the inside of my calves and ankles. This is a long-term result of chemo. The tops of my lungs are fried because of radiation, which makes it very uncomfortable - and sometimes painful - to ride in cold weather.

Yeah, laziness has something to do with it. But so does aging and side effects of treatment. Lately, I've been instilled with the desire to be healthy again - thankfully - and as a result, I've been riding my trainer a little more.

My rides have basically been quick 10 mile rides that take just over 30 minutes. I have been documenting my rides, and have noticed that I have raised my mph on each ride. This culminated yesterday with my awesome ride.

So why is this important? Well, for 35 minutes and 56 seconds yesterday, I rode as if I was seven years younger and never had cancer.

It was a beautiful thing.

What Would Your Wristband Say?

Sheryl asked me an interesting question this morning: If you had a wristband, what would it say?

The question stemmed from the popular Lance Armstrong “LiveStrong” bracelet, and also from the “Ride On” bracelets developed by Saul Raisin, in his attempt to raise awareness for brain injuries. Sheryl had just finished Saul’s book, “Tour de Life”, this morning, and thus the question.

My immediate thought was that my wristband would have to say “strength” or “survival”. Surviving is something I’ve done my entire life – and I don’t intend to stop. Strength is core to my nature and is also present on my wedding band.

But to be easily marketed, my wristband would have to have a catchy slogan or inspiring word. I’d love to say something like “Cancerboy rocks!”, or “Viva la Cancerboy!” But does that really inspire?

How about “Survive Hard”, or “Dream Big”?

More options:
“Just Be”
“Total Perseverance”
“Endure, Live, Love”
“Breathe”
“Never Relent”
“Resist and Persist”
“Dominate”
“Ride It Out / Write It Out”
“Always Forward”

I’d have to say, though, that one of my favorite inspirational quotes is “the only way out is through.” It makes me feel like mentally balling up my fists and running straight into the darkness. But that’s kinda long for a wristband saying.

So what would your wristband say?

The End of an errr...

I saw something the other day that said "1-20-09 - The End of an Error", naturally speaking of the wonderful downward spiral years of the Bush regime. But instead of spiraling downward myself, and reducing myself to a political rant, I want to talk about my own end of an era...

I decided to quit darts at the end of this season.

This decision was huge for me. I'll admit, my voice quivered and my eyes welled when I told my team. OBV2.0 consists of people who are very important to me - and I never want to let them down.

But as the season has gone on, confidence has left my darts, and as a result, I've become quickly frustrated. A surefire way to cure this is to practice more. Practice, however, is limited by my shoulder, which can only handle a mere 30 minutes of constant throwing. I suppose that this would be okay - as long as I practiced every day - but I simply cannot commit to that.

What used to be fun - what used to be my life, has become nothing but a source of anger and frustration. Being angry and frustrated does absolutely no good, and I hate being that way when I am surrounded by people I love.

The nice thing about it, though, is that it frees Sheryl and I up to do stuff on Friday nights. We are so busy with our jobs and I am trying to keep a regular cycling schedule, that we never seem to have enough time to do stuff that we want. Since I've been sick, I've believed in taking advantage of opportunities. By committing to darts on a weekly basis, I've limited my opportunities.

Darts has been such a great thing for me. I loved playing in the two leagues, and the regular tournaments and such, but that was when I had more time. I was careless, reckless and had a great time!

I'm searching for something bigger though, and more rewarding. Darts filled a void when I needed it, and introduced me to a lot of great people. But now I need to take care of other things that I've been neglecting.

Maturity sucks, but I'm grateful that I am open-minded and flexible enough to acknowledge when such a change needs to take place. I recognize that I will always yearn for knowledge I do not have, and experience things I never did before. And sometimes, you need to give something up to make way for the next great thing.

Last friday, Sheryl and I went to a "coffeehouse" event at Gilda's Club. It was an open mike, and featured a wonderful performance by the inspiring Jill Jack. It reminded me of the Wednesday night open mike night at the Cross Street Station when I was in college. Every Wednesday was magical and exciting. We never knew where the night would take us - and last Friday night could have been the same way (without all the alcohol!)... but we were committed to darts, which would pretty much guarantee to end in a haze of cigarette smoke, burning eyes, and the munchies at 1:00am, while getting ready for bed.

There is no magic in that.

I love OBV2.0. I am going to miss playing darts with them every Friday. However, we still have pick-up games to look forward to. And I am well-aware that I can always join a dart league in the future...

If the time comes.

To paraphrase taoist Lao-Tzu, "The only constant in the Universe is change..."

And I don't think he meant coins.

What's that smell??

“I love the smell of napalm in the morning… Smelled like... victory.” – Apocalypse Now

How much does it matter if you win or lose?

Not much, unless you’re a bullfighter, I guess…

But there really is something to winning that you never really know unless you’ve been losing.

This past week, our dart team finally won our first match of the season. It took six weeks of losing before we won.

We always say that it’s more about having fun than winning. Which is fine if you only lose a few here and there. Otherwise, the losing just grates on you.

“If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win”

Losing can crush your confidence. I tried to pump up our team this week by telling them that we’re going to be underdogs for the rest of the season. And if nothing else, we can look to f*ck up a lot of teams who are looking past us!

Well, we finally won.

And so did the Lions, whom I have been rooting on for years. Who’da thunk they’d be 6-2 at this point? I’m tickled to death!

Oddly enough, victory smells kinda like hickory.

Internet Whiteboard

She seems as if she can never do enough for me
She laughs
She makes me happy

When she's concerned about me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
When she's mad at me, she tries not to let it show (too much)

I know, and it makes me feel bad.

She deserves to be as happy as she makes me
She deserves the world on a silver platter
She deserves to know - on a regular basis - that I love her.

24/7, I shield her the best I can
24/7, I try to make her laugh
24/7, I realize more than anything

she's my angel.

What's in a name?

This year, our dart team is struggling. We throw decent darts throughout the game, but we just can't seem to make that final - kill - shot.

We're lovers, not killers.

It's a family team, essentially... with my wife, my brother, my sister, my longest-known friend and another great guy, we all get along really well.

We're lovers, not killers.

Except for one guy on our team, who likes to go deer hunting. But besides that...

We're lovers, not killers.

Our team name, OBV2.0, is an extension from last year's team - Oddballz. OBV2.0=Oddballz, version 2.0. Yay, the mystery is out!

Because we are struggling this season, we have moments when the lover-side of us lapse. As a couple of us raised our shot glasses for a toast this past Friday, I suggested we name our team "Nads". That way, when we cheered ourselves on, we could say "Gooooo NADS!" and get a good chuckle out of it.

So what's truly in a name?

Sure, we could use dart-specific names like "Three in a bed", "What's the point?", "Bull shooters", "Just the tip", etc.... but that's so passe'.

We could use my name: "Matt's Maestro's".

Or use our relationship: "Family Affair".

Seeing as that we will be underdogs for the rest of the season, we could be "The Underdogs" and take up pseudonyms based on the characters: Shoeshine Boy, Simon Bar Sinister, Sweet Polly Purebread...

Maybe we need a mean name like "The Meanies" or "I'll Kick Your Ass if You Win".

But we can't.

We're lovers, not killers.

So for now, OBV2.0 will remain. But being underdogs, we realize that we may not be taken as a serious threat.

And this will give us the perfect opportunity to pounce - with our teeth bared and gnashing - aiming straight for the jugular.

Music is the best

According to Frank Zappa, in his song "Packard Goose", information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is THE BEST...

I love the words and music of Frank Zappa. I have often thought about the conversation we would have if we had ever met.

Matt: Hi Frank. It's a pleasure to meet you.
Frank: Is it?
Matt: It sure is. I really enjoy your music and stuff you talk about.
Frank: Stuff like what?
Matt: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

There doesn't seem to be too many stupid musicians, whose talents lie on the record store shelves. Frank would talk circles around me, even though I am a relatively smart person. In fact, I would bet that a lot of the musicians I love would talk circles around me.

Of course, I would have to talk to them about challenging topics. Sure, we might start out talking about the weather, but eventually, I would have to ask David Bowie where he gets his inspiration, and how he developed his method for writing lyrics.

I'd be spinning in moments.

I like intelligent music. Overly intelligent music like jazz goes way over my head. Instead, I like synchopated stuff. Stuff that throws you off balance and makes you think.

I also enjoy a good story sung to me. Give me a Jim Croce song, or James Taylor, Warren Zevon, Jackson Browne...

Warren Zevon wrote songs that make me want to be the main character. What sort of observer would tell the tale of London's werewolves? How much shit's gotta hit the fan before you'd have to cry out for lawyers, guns and money? Who would keep a busy schedule trying to fit in the seven deadly sins?

Crazy, man, crazy.

But what's wrong with simply having fun with music? One of my favorite rock and roll bands, Cheap Trick, keeps anger and profanity out of their songs. I loved the simple rock of early Van Halen and Aerosmith.

Most of the time, though, I use music to help me achieve a certain mood. When I write, or try to be artsy, I like to listen to introspective stuff like Pink Floyd, or krautrock like Neu or early Tangerine Dream.

To everything is a season
And a time for purpose under heaven.

For me, this is also true for music.

The record album turns, turns, turns. Our moods and lives change. Have you ever wondered what soundtrack would define a movie of your life?

I think mine would be as jam-packed as the 10-disc 70s music explosion collection...

...as seen on TV.

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

On October 23, 2002, I had my first beer in months. My mom, my aunt and uncle, all came over to watch the Red Wings on TV, and to celebrate the end of the most brutal time of my life.

I choked down a couple of beers and some pizza, my throat still screamingly raw from 17 sessions of radiation therapy. I think I smiled a lot. We all smiled a lot.

Every day since then has been filled with smiles. Some days were difficult, but most days it was easy to get a smile out of me.

And although one could say that my 2002 bout with cancer was the start of a bad luck streak, I still found a way through it. Lord knows, I don't know how I got through some of those dark days, but they are now behind me. And I try to never look back... ever.

Try.

Sometimes, I've learned, you have to look back. You have to look at the lessons you learned and you have to look at what you've accomplished. You have to identify these things in order to help others who may be going through the same thing.

I didn't go through my trials and tribulations myself. I had my family and friends available when and if I needed them. I don't know if I could have survived without them.

Lately, I've been feeling burned out on the cancer thing. The burden and commitment of being a survivor of the disease is huge.

In December 2002, I signed up as a volunteer at Gilda's Club Metro Detroit. Being less than two months out of treatments, I was overflowing with the need to give back. I visited the clubhouse often, and became somewhat of a fixture there.

Of course, it was there that I met my wife Sheryl.

While we were dating, Sheryl and I still participated a lot at Gilda's Club. With her support, I proceeded to develop two fundraising bike rides, where we hauled in nearly $30,000 to support the clubhouse that was always so good to us.

As a cancer survivor, you are always the local expert in cancers of all sorts. If Bob's uncles' grandmother was recently diagnosed with melanoma, and you had thyroid cancer, it doesn't matter... Bob will come to you for advice, and you will graciously try to help.

But I don't know if it is the passing of time, or the change of life I've experienced, but I don't have it in me right now to play the cancer game. I feel awful about it, because I still feel the obligation of the cured. Maybe I've just burned out and need to focus on some other things right now.

October 23, 2002 was the first day of the rest of my life. And I've taken complete advantage of it.

October 23, 2007 is the first day of the rest of my life. And I plan to take complete advantage of it.

It's no fluke that when I lay down to go to sleep every night, I thank God and the angels that surround Sheryl and I for an awesome day, and all of the opportunities that made themselves available. It's no fluke that I thank them for the time I spend with Sheryl. And it's no fluke that I ask them to bless our family and friends.

The Army gets more done by 6am than anyone else.

More power to them.

Are they really enjoying it, though? Are they truly living every moment?

Are you? Am I?

I know one thing for sure...

I'm trying like hell.

Have a great day. And a great day after that.

Nothing/Anything?

It's not often that I write a blog without a big idea behind it, and unfortunately, this will be one of the few.

I am sitting in our quiet house, trying to get a handle on having so much time on my hands. Since leaving Oshkosh, I haven't been working so many hours, and I feel like a part-timer only putting in 40-45 hours per week.

After visiting my doctor earlier this week, I was appalled at my weight, and should be doing something about it. However, yesterday, I rode on the trainer for the first time this season, and did something to my hip. It bugs me too much to ride and bugs me too much to do yard work. It bugs me, dang it!

Sheryl is still at work, so I decided to catch up a bit with all three or four of my blog readers, and let you know what I've been up to.

Last week, Sheryl and I took a couple of days off together. We vacationed in fabulous Ferndale. ON Thursday, we went to Slow's Bar B Q for a late lunch... MMMMMM YUMMMY! Then we went to the newly opened (and now striking) Motor City casino. We weren't too impressd, and still like the Greektown casino better.

Thursday night, I began putzing around with my latest project - the garage door opener. Now, I don't know what exactly happened, but I worked on that bitch for DAYS, and only this past Monday did I get it finished!

It was strange actually taking my time with a project, and making sure it was done right. In the past, I'd do it all half-assed and not care. Married life probably did that to me, but who knows? I can still blame cancer...

Saturday, we had another of our occasional tequila tasting parties. MMMMM YUMMMY!! Oddly enough, it had taken us five years of these parties before anyone purchased the same tequila as another had. In this case, my brother Van and I both bought a fifth of Casa Noble reposado. Fortunately, of the five tequilas we had, that one was the best. So we had to have a second shot of it!

The food - as usual - was AWESOME! MMMMM YUMMMY!! (are we beginning to understand my weight problem yet?) And this gets me to something else...

When I was in Oshkosh, I missed our first night of darts this season. I was seriously bummed, and Sheryl called to tell me that the team was having a lot of fun and doing pretty well, too. I thought about how Sheryl has embraced two of my favorite pastimes: darts and cycling. I thought I'd give one of her favorite pastimes a shot - cooking/grilling.

Because Sheryl seems to really enjoy cooking, I try to stay out of her way. I know that sometimes she would prefer me to cook, but I feel so out of place in the kitchen these days... so I think I'm gonna work on that. And as I get my feet wet, I'll probably lose weight... after all, have you TRIED my cooking?? ;)

Well, Blogger is scheduled to go down for maintenance in about ten minutes, so I reckon I should wrap this up...

I want to give a shout out (although he will likely never see this) to Saul Raisin - I just finished his book (Tour de Life), and was amazed how similar people are who survive brain injuries like him and survive cancer like me.

Roll on, Saul!
Take care of yourselves, folks...

Cheese n' Rice!

For almost the entire time since my last post, I have been sequestered just off Lake Winnebago in Wisconsin. Four weeks of cheese, Green Bay Packers and beer... oh, work, too.

I figure I spent 1/4 of my married life away from my new wife, and that sucked. In fact, a lot about this time away sucked.

But, like everything else, there is a silver lining... being terminally optimistic, I see that I possibly cemented my job at work. I earned time off, and helped people out.

Of course, I had no social life - and I'm a social person.

Instead, I would get back to the hotel, do some quick exercises, eat PB&J sammiches and call Sheryl. Then I'd watch TV until I went to sleep. Yow, was that boring!

So now it looks like I'm home for a while. I am looking forward to spending time with my not drunken punkin, weekends watching football, hanging with friends while playing darts on Fridays, and celebrating life.

On October 23 (two weeks from today), I will celebrate the 5-year anniversary of being cancer free. I call that date my "rebirthday". It reminds me how important life is, and how I should live my life - not taking things too seriously, having fun and making sure every important person in my life knows how I feel about them.

Many of our friends and family comment to Sheryl and I about how happy we are and how much fun we have. Between my ability to celebrate a rebirthday and Sheryl's understanding via work how short life is, we can't help but want to spend all of our time having fun.

Whenever we get some time away from work, wanna come out with us?

Car Crash

Okay, so I’ve assimilated well – at least in my noggin – with my cancer survivorship.

The likelihood, however, is that I haven’t. Still.

Five years out, and I still find how deep the bruises of cancer survivorship run. There’s a tragic beauty to the immediate empathy I feel for those within my cancer community. My heart goes out to everyone in that situation.

Yet at the same time, I pains me.

I really don’t know why. Maybe it’s that I’m still too close to the horror. I think way deep inside, though, it still scares the f*ck out of me.

My biggest pre-cancer fear was drowning. As a kid, I got stuck underwater a couple of times and swallowed a milk jug or two of pool water. You’d think I’d have learned after the first time…

But now, my fear of drowning competes against a second fear – cancer recurrence.

Like any other fear, I tend to forget about it until it jumps in my face. Last night’s TLC show “Crazy Sexy Cancer” smacked me upside the head much like the previously discussed “Living with Cancer” show.

Now don’t get me wrong… I think these types of shows are amazing. They do for TV what I wanted to do with my book – show people what fighters and heroes are really about, and what people go through while being treated for cancer.

I think more importantly, these shows portray how important attitude is when dealing with these sorts of setbacks. It is very important for people to see.

Last night, I told Sheryl that watching “Crazy Sexy Cancer” was like watching a car crash. I didn’t want to watch it, but I had to see what happened next. I can’t explain it.

It sucked because I knew how important it was for Sheryl to watch it. During the first commercial, we talked about different points of view – doctor vs. patient – and I was amazed by how differently I – as former patient - see things.

Now and again, out of the corner of my eye, I’d see Sheryl looking at me. I felt that perhaps she was studying me for reactions. And this is a beautiful thing about our relationship: I can help her in her job by teaching her things about her patients and survivorship. But last night’s sad fact was, I couldn’t return her gaze, because I knew if I did, I’d burst out in tears for absolutely no reason.

As a result of my cancer experience, my life has completely changed. I relish life a whole lot more. I relish my family and friends a whole lot more. I know what is important to me and I have a better idea of what I want and who I am.

I hope that TV shows like this will help non-survivors understand or give them a point of reference so they can help themselves – or others who have cancer.

I hope that people know the difference between watching shows like this and a watching a car crash. This morbid vulgarity of someone else’s misfortune is meant to educate and inspire, and not necessarily entertain. We are the anti-Paris.

Yes, I apparently still have issues. But that just makes me an adult, right? It’s a great life with lots of humor, and being sad once in a while is okay.

Unfortunately, though, I am the kind of person who needs to understand why I am sad (when I happen to be sad). Did “Crazy Sexy Cancer” put me right back in the middle of my fight with cancer? Did it remind me of the person I was and values I had before cancer? Did it remind me of my chances of getting a secondary cancer? Did it make me think about how short life is?

Or did it throw a spider into my arachnophobic lap and simply scare the f*ck out of me?

Who knows, with some out-of-the-box thinking, maybe stuff like this could become the latest Disneyland or Six Flags thrill ride…

Is life all about fun or is it supposed to be serious?

Suppose you are blessed with the opportunity to have a career doing something you love. And you have a blast doing it. On top of that, it allows you do have a great personal life and do kickass things like travel and such.

Suppose you are Lance Armstrong or Saul Raisin. You were born to ride a bicycle. You are young and "living the life of Reilly". And WHAM! It hits you - cancer, brain injury.

I was talking to a friend of mine at work. His mom is on the opposite side of the country, and just recently had to have brain surgery done. We talked a little about it, shared some experiences, and eventually started talking about cycling. At the end of the conversation, he felt better - and so did I.

So it got me to thinking... is life all about fun, with some serious shit eventually thrown in there, or is it serious with sprinkles of fun?

When I was a kid, I spent hours reading and re-reading a book by Remy Charlip called "Arm in Arm". It was one of my favorites. The title comes from a "vignette" - if you will - in the book. "Two octopi were walking down the aisle. Arm in arm in arm in arm in arm..."

One of the most memorable stories in the book was a picture on the left hand page with some kids playing out in the snow. One kid says "Isn't it better to be out in the snow playing, rather than being inside, laying in a nice warm bed?" On the right side of the page, you see a bunch of kids laying in bed. One kid says "Isn't it better to be laying in a nice warm bed, rather than being out in the snow playing?"

And so I ask one more time, is life supposed to be fun with some seriousness thrown in, or is life serious with some fun tossed in for good measure?

I'm sure you know my answer.

Le Velo Hangover

The 2007 Tour “DAY” France finished up yesterday, and now I face the torture of post-Tour hangover.

This years’ race was once again marred by doping issues, and it really started to take its toll on how I watched the daily summaries. I mean, what counts as a “phenomenal feat” anymore these days, without bringing in the doping question?

It sucks. You want to believe that amazing things can happen when someone sets their minds to it. I’ve actually done such things myself. But why do we quickly find ourselves not believing?

Rather than expound my foolishness on that topic, I wanted instead to talk about one day. This years’ race had one really exciting day of racing. Although, in fact, Saturday’s time trial wasn’t all that exciting except for the end, and the last three riders.

In the late (dope-filled) 1990’s, there was nothing better than watching Marco Pantani beat the pants off his rivals in the mountains. In the early 2000s, I often wondered when Lance would make his move – when he did, it was always dramatic.

Lance changed the Tour de France. He made it more meticulous and frankly, less fun. Believe me, I admire his accomplishments, but I wish the race wouldn’t be so predictable these days.

It’s true, this was the first year that I couldn’t put together a top ten prediction list, and as it turned out, I was 100% correct – because there was no way you could have predicted the overall outcome.

Le Tour used to get me psyched to do a training ride. But now, the drama takes a lot of that excitement away.

So Sheryl and I look elsewhere for that rush to ride and the psyche to cycle… we found nirvana.

Nirvana, thy name is the Mike Walden Velodrome at Bloomer Park.

The thunder-like rumble of the track gets our pulse racing before we even see the riders pedaling in circles.

Sitting under the warm summer evening sky, while watching single gear Madison racing is completely inspiring. And the family-like atmosphere keeps us going back.

Watching 19-year-old Luke Cavendar beat everyone like they are sitting still gives us reason to think that we may be watching a neo-pro.

And though Sheryl and I narrowly missed our chances at Olympic dreams (okay, our chances were more than narrowly missed), we can hope and wonder that the kid who inspires us on our weekend rides, might be a gold medal winner lying in wait.

Come on out to Bloomer any Friday night, and chances are you will see Sheryl and I smiling dumbly, cheering on the riders – clapping and sipping our homemade hangover remedies.

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my sleeping face
Through the window of my room
Through the window of clouds

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my sleepy heart
Radiate my soul
Radiate my world

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my fingers and hands
Wake their healing power
Wake their compassion

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my sleeping face
Grace my lips
Grace my words

For some weird reason, I have been repeatedly reminded lately of my childhood summers.

Particularly, I’ve been fondly reminiscing about going to visit Auntie Aggie and Uncle Phil.

Auntie Aggie was my grandmother’s sister. Like my grandma, Auntie Aggie was a tough broad. I adored her, like I adored my grandmother.

During the summer, when I was a wee laddie, I recall my mom, my grandma and I going to Auntie Aggie’s house.

As much as I adored my Auntie Aggie, Uncle Phil was a pretty cool dude. He would do stuff with me, while letting the women-folk gossip and such in the house.

Sometimes, we would go out to the old-smelling, wooden garage and build stuff. I would hammer boards together in the most awful manner and Uncle Phil would call it a masterpiece.

Sometimes, we would walk to the neighborhood park and mess around there.

Uncle Phil was my buddy.

And now, as I get older, my memories become fonder each passing summer.

I told Sheryl that I always thought I would die of a heart attack. But while reminiscing about my childhood summers, I realized that that may not be true.

The neighborhood kids and I played a lot during the summer. We were outside almost all of the time. It was never too hot.

And we played baseball like it was going out of style.

I played tee-ball and little league. And on off days, we would play at the school baseball diamond.

We would play until it was either dark, or until mom called us in.

Being a big kid, my knees always hurt me by the end of the day. They used to hurt so bad, that I would sometimes be in tears once I finally sat down for the night.

But my desire to play… play baseball, play with my friends… my heart… was always bigger than pain. Bigger than my knees.

And so, I am re-thinking the heart attack thing.

Is it possible to die from playing too much?