cancer as a wilderness

everything in austin seemed decked out for the weekend. maybe yellow is just a popular color down there.

i've survived three years. saturday, the day i read this banner, was my three-year anniversary.

touchdown j.c. was chillin' in austin. i am pretty sure he was cheering on the nittany lions as they beat michigan.

i'd like one of these bottles for my wine rack. ok, maybe two.

inside the dome at the state capitol. everything's bigger in texas.

mellow johnny's was raking it in with all the cyclists in town. pretty cool little shop.

doesn't everyone want to see their name on the big screen? fundraising dinner, saturday night.

15 miles in on sunday morning. the ride took us straight into hill country and gave us beautiful scenery the entire time.

after a record dry summer it has been raining lately and this river looked like it had recently overflowed the bank. this was a really pretty spot. and one of the few flat ones!

rotten leads the way down a hill about 50 miles in.

a towel soaked in ice water certainly felt incredible after a hot final 15 miles or so. it got really hot on the last stretches.

another jersey to add to my collection, another rose at the finish line.

believe it or not, i was too tired to have a beer on sunday night. i think i got through 1/3 a pacifico with dinner, but i nearly fell asleep in my dessert.

there is just something about a yellow rose that makes me happy. this one smells just like summer!

what's better than capuccino and animal crackers on a rainy austin day? not very much.

this weekend marked the three year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis as well as my third ride in a livestrong challenge. as most of you know, i traveled down to austin, tx, to take part in the festivities down there. i arrived, my luggage arrived, and my bike arrived, along with rotten and my parents. i was all set to do a little celebrating, a little reflecting, a lot of eating and a lot of riding. i am feeling very successful as i am certain i crossed all four of those items off the list in the course of three days, deep in the heart of texas.

at a fundraising dinner on saturday night, one of the presenters referred to the "wilderness" that is a cancer diagnosis. i've drawn some comparison of that myself, but speaking mainly in terms of the rebuilding and recovery that takes place after a large scale disturbance, such as a forest fire. but looking at the overall experience, there are many parallels to wilderness, and in my particular experience with the disease, i do think my own times spent in the actual wilderness have indeed prepared me for my cancer adventures thus far.

first of all, the landscape can be completely daunting and spectacular at the same time. there have been many moments along the way during which i removed myself from the equation, and found myself in complete awe of the people and science surrounding me. there is such promise out there, in the form of new drugs, procedures, and protocols that i cannot help but feel at least somewhat hopeful. that's not to say there aren't times when i feel intensely alone and a bit frightened. but if i can escape my own mind for a short moment and really reflect upon my surroundings, ones i cannot actually remove myself from, i find the view to be quite incredible.

also, i tend to enjoy the journey both in the company of good friends and by myself. the big trips i have been on to big mountains or really amazing places have found me along side some of the dearest friends i have. some of our friendships are a direct result of our time in the outdoors. had it not been for an afternoon spent building boardwalk, or skipping class to climb, or a fall weekend spent in the whites, many of the people i consider my closest friends probably would not be in my life today. and i am lucky to have them, because i never could have gotten this far on this trail by myself. they are a constant, no matter how far away or how often i see them. i keep them close at hand in my mind and know i can lean on them as cancer gets me down, just as i relied upon them to hold me if i fell from the rock. i also enjoy solo time in the woods, walking slowly, listening to the birds and looking at the world around me. i remember an evening in the white mountains when i found myself alone at crag camp, on the northern side of the presidential range, as the sun was setting. it was getting cool and the silence around me was deafening. i wasn't the least bit worried or scared. i felt calm and happy, breathing in the fresh air and savoring the view i had to myself. there are times now, often in the days after chemo, when i relish the time to myself. i feel as though in those days i just cannot keep up with the pace the real world has set for everyone and some alone time allows me to move at my own pace without the judgement of others creeping in. it reminds me to appreciate my time and not feel stressed by the time that is passing and the things i have to do. in a way, it reminds me that for now, all really is ok.

the wilderness has taught me volumes, as has my time living with cancer in my life. the things i have learned have mainly been eye-opening and while i would be willing to give the lessons back in return for a guaranteed clean bill of health, as long as i have to be doing this i feel fortunate to be the type of person who can look at the experience and take something positive away from it.

during each livestrong challenge weekend i have been a part of i have had the opportunity to meet some amazing, caring, strong people. at one point in the dinner on saturday night, all the survivors were asked to stand up. less than 1/3 of the 500 or so people present at the dinner stood up. we were followed by those whose spouses were survivors. many more people stood. finally, anyone who had a family member as a survivor were asked to stand. by this point the entire room was on their feet. everyone involved in the livestrong challenge is there for a reason - one that is intimate and special to them. and one we would all gladly leave behind. we would gladly never have met one another under these circumstances. cancer is something that hurts people. it breaks hearts. it takes precious life from people we love. it teaches lessons we never really wanted to know, but we carry those learnings with us, and in the end, those are the reasons we are there, that is what motivates us to do something more than just sit back and nod our heads when we hear someone say "cancer's a really bad thing".

for me, the weekend is one of the few times out of the year when i actually take the time to be amazed by myself. because, really, what i do each day, each week, each month, it is pretty amazing. i climbed a steep hill on sunday. it came out of nowhere. i just rounded a corner and looked up and there it was, and there were a bunch of people off their bikes, walking up the hill. when i see this, there is part of me that wants to climb off my bike as well. but, first of all, walking in bike shoes really sucks, and also, i have never, ever walked a hill on my bike since being diagnosed with cancer. i wasn't starting on sunday. so i turned the pedals over and went up, up, up. i got to the top and rotten told me what a good job i had done. i was crying a bit, and he wanted to know what was wrong. nothing was wrong. i was so amazed, honestly, that it had brought tears to my eyes. three years ago i had no idea whether i could ever do something like this again, and here i was doing it for the third time, and climbing steep hills that even people without lung cancer couldn't get up. in rare moments like that, i am amazed. i am repeating myself, but it really is the word that comes to mind.

along the ride we also went back and forth with a group of people we had met who came to the ride from seattle. everyone i've met at the livestrong challenge has been supportive and caring. we share stories. we laugh and talk about things other than cancer. we talk about cancer. this year, it meant a lot to see people we had met the night before out on the course. it gave me an entire new crew of others to root for and cheer on. we all bring a different story to the event but in the end we are riding more with our hearts than our legs, i think. my legs would beg to differ, today, but i think that is the truth. it was very nice to see friendly faces out there, and know a little about one another along the way.

the hill country outside austin is one of the most beautiful places i've been. and i've been in many beautiful places. i don't think it would be so great on one of the 70+ days of 100+ degree weather they had this summer, but to be riding in nearly 80 degrees on an october sunday was pretty nice. sitting in the sun on saturday i felt the warmth on my head and began to wonder how, exactly, i could swing a snowbird gig, living in austin for the winter, up here in the summer, and traveling to places all over in the meantime. a girl's got to dream.

the weekend was fantastic. i don't have a map telling me how to navigate everything life has thrown at me. i'm not always sure i even want one. but weekends like this one have a way of settling me down and motivating me at the same time, urging me to desire to do great things while leading a life that is meaningful to me. wilderness has a way of healing.