This weekend I raced in the 3rd race of the BFAS triathlon series races at Mickler's. Big Mini did the swim on a relay team consisting of a friend's husband and another friend's son. Both of those friends raced as well, as did one's brother AND sister in law and the other's sister in law, making this race a fun family affair. Alas, Matthew and LM were on camera duty due to a torn meniscus and not being 12 yet, respectively.
Although I did not especially enjoy the ACT of racing (what the heck was UP with that pathetic run?), I thoroughly enjoyed the EVENT, precisely because of the special people in it.
I could pick any of several people who've inspired me lately, but I'm going to focus on one of the families I mentioned, above, in particular. I've gotten to know this extended group through kids' AND adult triathlon and road races... H, who just started triathlon in the past few years, has abs we all envy, and now places in her her age group in a lot of events, and her husband K, whose story I will tell shortly... And then through them I've met K's brother and sister in law, G and V.
H always makes me laugh. Her outlook on life, in spite of what many people would consider a full-to-overflowing plate o'stress (the kind of stress that isn't of your choosing and is completely out of your control with no end to it in sight, IE the worst kind), is unerringly positive and tinged with the kind of humor required to gracefully handle life's not so little trials and tribulations. Her dedication to training and her family puts us all to shame, and I'm probably more excited about her doing IMFL this year than she is, lol. Because she juggles more obligations and draining issues than anyone I know, I think of her when I feel whiny or sorry for myself, and how her positive outlook never seems to waiver.
K, her husband, is an absolutely amazing example of fortitude and determination. Shortly after K and H signed up for IMFL 2010, they discovered that K had bilateral renal cancer, and earlier this year he underwent two separate surgeries to remove all of one kidney and 1/3 of the second. The doctors were very negative about his future ability to exercise with any intensity, and K was facing the great unknown on a variety of fronts: would his remaining 2/3 kidney kick in and take on the duties normally performed by 2 functioning organs? Would he suffer some sort of adrenal issue caused by the surgery and trauma to his body? Would the cancer recur, or spread? If his remaining kidney-lite did not take on the burden, he was facing up to 5 years of dialysis before he could be eligible for a kidney transplant (assuming he remained cancer free for those 5 years). Add all of that to the apparent loss of a huge part of his identity -- triathlete, runner, active participant in life -- and you've got a recipe for most people for a stint in a seriously dark place.
At first K and H looked bleakly at the immediate future, as the doctors discouraged virtually all strenuous activity and preached fear of dehydration and overheating...and while K struggled with the emotions most of us can only imagine having to resolve, H struggled with how to help the man she loves come to terms with the probability of a greatly altered future.
BUT... K, like all good, obstinant athletes, didn't just accept the vague limitations placed on him. He researched, and found other stories of cancer survivors (kidney and otherwise) who came back as athletes... and he started, slowly, swimming, and biking, and jogging. Now, we all know the tentative, cautious, wary steps we take as we come back from a basic physical injury... each effort tinged with the worry that the pain will return, every twinge watched carefully, every increase in mileage and effort accompanied by a held breath and a prayer to the warrior workout gods... now imagine the mental toll of entering relatively uncharted territory, with no clearly mapped path of recovery, no clear idea of the ramifications of each decision, and no idea whether the kidney function OR the cancer would return.
Yeah, I'm not sure I could do it, either. But do it K has... with determination and the power of an indestructible will in a wounded triathlete's body. What probably seemed like a drearily slow progression to K has been astounding to the rest of us, as he is now riding and running mileage greater than I am with less than two months until my Ironman, lol. To see a peer look down the barrel of the loaded gun that is cancer and face down all the fears of the unknown that accompany treatment, recovery, and survivorship... to watch him venture into completely unknown territory and manage the new-found limitations of his own body and regain training form... to get glimpses into the tap dance through a minefield that must be involved in learning the new capacities and needs of a body adapting to the loss of 1 and 1/3 of 2 very important organs... and to truly believe that this man, and his wife, will be ready to tackle the daunting task that is an Ironman triathlon -- this, to me, is at a minimum wildly inspiring, if not downright miraculous.
As if H and K's story is not already amazing enough, I have to admit that the icing on that family cake is the evolution of K's brother and sister in law, G and V. V has been a runner, but G battled a weight problem. At some point in the past year, G began to take steps to lose weight and get into shape. When K was diagnosed with the cancer and was unable to run the Donna 26.2, G took his entry -- and, although he had never done that distance before and had not really been training for such a long distance, he finished the race. This past weekend, he completed his first triathlon, crossing the finish line side by side with V (also doing her first tri). G has used the shock of his brother's illness to slingshot him into an almost 100lb weight loss and has embraced the athlete's lifestyle along with his wife. 100lbs. Think about that.
I can't tell you how much I enjoy seeing these four amazing people at various events. To see a family, sucker punched by adversity, regroup and rally and thrive in the face of that adversity -- that is truly special... (I get chills and a little teary eyed just THINKING about seeing them cross that finish line in November...!)
THAT is another small part of my "why".
:-)
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