hospital time

Well, I have now been stuck in the damn hospital since the 16th, and still have no clue when I'm getting the hell out. It's so mentally taxing to be going through all of this. Earlier this week I had an epidural put in my spine to help control some of the pain. Forf the most part, it's owking out, but it's not 100% under control yet.

I'll probably be here in Cooperstown a few more days. I don't think they want to send me home until I finish up my next few doses of chemo and radiation. Hopefully by that point they will feel comfortable sending me home to recover. I think this is the longest I have ever been in the hospital. It really sucks, too. I'm so tired of this bed, and I just wish I could get outside and breathe a breath of fresh air. This is really putting a lot of things into perspective.

Anyway, hopefully I'll be home soon, sitting in the sunshine, thinking about snow.

Lessions in strength

Well, guys, the last few weeks could best be described as a completley emotional fucking train wreck for me. It all began a few weeks ago when I checked into Bassett Hospital in Cooperstown, NY on an early monday morning spent driving against the hordes of Orioles fans who had converged into town to pay respect to Cal Ripken Jr.'s enshrinement into the Baseball Hall of Fame. I had been dealing with excruciating back pains that had been plagueing me for weeks. It took just one scan to reveal the awful truth- I had been livinh with a crushed L2 vertebrae for the previous four weeks. I went infor a khyphoplasty to have thr spine repaired, and felt a lot better. The next week I had another round of chemotherapy, and felt like I was getting back on track.

For a while. While my back was beginning to recover, my left legs were beginning to experience pain. Nerve pain. And it was getting worse. So on thursday I checked back into the hospital to try and get my pain under control. Immediately I had an MRI of my spine, and found out that ther was something causing pressure that was eliminating the use of my hip flexors. Than the difficult questions began to arise. What was the cause, and how could it be remedied? Unfortunately, I was not having an easy time geting answers. Two different neurosurgeons giving me opposite opinions on the same procedure.

Being a summer weekend, the upstate docs were having a hard time communicating with my downstate docs. And when the finally managed to connect, the news that was given to me was quite morbid. One of my Doctors from NYC was surprised that I was still alive, and thought I had 3-6 months left to live. That really was like a Bruce Lee kick to the back of the skull. In the meantime, I was losing so much strength in my legs that I was unable to walk on my own. My lower body was virtually useless,and my upper body was getting weaker. Needless to say, I spent much of Sunday in tears, absolutely bawling.

Things picked up on Monday, however. Even though an MRI to my head revealed that there was now cancerous activity in my brain, there was still some hope. A new oncologist had suggested a form of chemotherapy in combination with radiation. This gave me a much needed breath of fresh air. I felt as if I had survived an emotional train wreck, and I had now been dragged from the wreckage and could walk away from the disaster of the last several days.

Today I had some pre-radition tests, and will begin chemo and radiation treatment tomorrow. I am finally feeling agood again, despite the fact that I can't walk on my own, and am battling a lot of pain. But I know that in the past I have found new strengths from within my inner being, and that I must dig deeper than before to find even more strength to get me through this. Which, of course, I will. Casious Clay was hit more than Sonny Listion, but Cassious still won the fight.

Nils

Tour de Chemo stages 9-13

Well, we'll start with the good news first: My appetite has improved dramaticaly. Granted, it's nowhere near what it used to be, but at least I'm eating normal food on a semi-regular basis again. But it's probably not enough. I weighed myself the other day, and I was less than 165 pounds. I haven't been this light since I was nineteen! Yet, I still have a little bit of a gut going on! I mean, if I'm going to go through all of this pain and suffering, the least they could do would be to give me a flat stomach out of this whole ordeal.

Unfortunately, the back pain hasn't seemed to have improved too much, if at all. Spengin seven hours in a car yesterday did not help. I was really hurting yesterday when I got home from NYC, and could not deal with it. I was still in severe pain this morning, and had a hard time getting down the stairs this morning. I could not tolerate it, and I wondered how much more of this shit I could take.

I decided that at this point I would try anything, so I went to see an accupuncturist. Hell, matbe getting stuck with a bunch of needles would at least distract me from the pain. Tuns out this was a lot less painful than I thought it would be. Hopefully it will do something about my back. Seriously, this back pain is the worst. I could deal with the nausea and fatigue if every little movement didn't hurt, and I could rest in a comfortable position.

Tour de Chemo- Stage 8

Today's progress could best be summed up with two words: "sesame chicken". For the first time in almost a week I felt like eating real food. I was craving Chinese food, General Tso's chicken in particular. But with developing mouth sores, I decided to go for something a little bit milder. So I sent my dad on a mission to the Ming Moon. Eating half a portion was a major accomplishment, but the fact that I had a craving for a specific food item was even more important in the grand scheme of things.

I also managed to get a perscription for some muscle relaxers, which will hopefully help to cut down on some of the back pains I have been feeling these last few weeks. The back pain has been worse than the chemo effects, mainly because they have been keeping me from getting comfortable enough to get any real rest.

I'm feeling much more optimistic now than I was earlier in the week. When I felt like pure hell, a wave of pessimism came over me. But feeling better, as well as a few encouraging e-mails, have really improved my morale.

Tour de Chemo- Stages 3-7

Well, the good feelings of the first few days would not last. Sunday evening I began to hit the wall. I was at a barbecue, and even though I managed to eat a little bit, I could feel myself starting to fade. I went home, and basically was horizontal for a long time.

Monday was probably the worst day of them all. I probably set a personal record for the most amount of sleep in 24 hours. Plus, it was extremely hot and humid, making things very uncomfortable. I puked for the first time. And adding insult to injury, it was my birthday.

The next couple of days were better. Dehydration was a major enemy, and I had to make an effort to put fluids into my body. I also barely ate the previous day, so forcing calories into my system was another important task.

I've been trying to eat and drink, despite the feelings of uneasiness in my stomach. At least it's cooled down a bit, so I don't have the heat to worry about. Hopefully I start to feel better these next few days. Being confined to the couch and watching TV, especially on a nice day like today, is incredibly tough to take.

Tour de Chemo- Stage 2

Well, perhaps the lucky number 7 was what kept me from feeling sick. All day I was waiting to feel like hell, but it never happenned. Granted, I was tired, and spent most of the day on the couch. Good thingthere was about five hours of Tour de France coverage, which made being a couch potato a little bit easier to deal with. Of course, I wished I was riding my bike myself, instead of watching other people ride.

All things considered, it was not a bad day. I ddn't feel sick, managed to eat a decent amount, and was even able to enjoy the neighbor's fireworks display. Actualy, they outdid themselves this year. I have no idea how much they spent on fireworks this year, but the show this year was almost professional. A long way from bottle rockets and firecrackers.

Tour de Chemo- Stage 1 complete

Man, talk about a long assed day. Over fourteen hours from start to finish. It's amazing how exhausting sitting around can be.

I woke up around 8 AM, and showered. I tried to eat a bit of breakfast, but I wasn't hungry. Nerves were certainly on overdrive. I even felt a bit queasy. Great, if I was queasy in the morning, how the fuck would I feel when my body was pumped full of toxic chemicals? I managed to eat about a half bagel and some juice. Buy 9, we were in the car, en route to NYC. I tried to nap a bit in the car, and ate some Twizzlers on the Thruway. Red food, you know.

We crossed the GWB around 11:40, and had to make a critical decision- where to eat lunch. I still wasn't feeling all to hungry, and was mainly worried that anything I ate I would just end up puking back up later. I immediately decided that a plate of greasy meat and potatoes at the Dallas BBQ was out of the question. I decided on the Fibe Bistro, where I had a salad.

At 1:00, I checked into the hospital for my treatment. After waiting for over an hour, somebody told me that the were waiting on my bloodwork. The brilliant receptionist failed to mention that the vampires would be sucking blood, so that pretty much meant I wasted an entire hour watching CNN when I could have been receiving my medicine.

Around 3:00 I finally began my treatment. We were informed that it would be about a four hour process. Wonderful. I neglected to bring any reading material, and I didn't have my computer with me so I could watch a DVD. I sent Dad and Kira on a mission, and they returned with the latest from Chuck Klosterman. Kira also bought me a bobblehead turtle from a street vendor, which was to be my good luck mojo.

After an hour, I was feeling tired and took a nap. That was a great way to pass another hour. I kept waiting for the sickness to set in, but it never did. I even ate a little bit of Chex Mix during treatment, as well as some chocolate-raspberry cookies. Actually, I probably overindulged on the cookies, because I wasn't hungry for anything when we got out of the hospital.

We headed back upstate, and I was surprised to see so little traffic on the G-Dub and the Thruway for a Friday night in the summer. After about an hour, I was ready to eat, and we stopped in New Paltz to grab a bite at the diner. The diner had those jukeboxes in every booth, and it felt like we were in the final episode of the Sopranos. Unfortunately, they didn't have "Don't Stop Believin'", so we settled on Billy Joel instead. I ate a cup of soup and half of a corned beef sandwich.

After dinner, we drove through the town time forgot (New Paltz if full of hippies who have probably been there since they got left behind by their buddies at the original Woodstock festival), and headed home. By the time we got back, it was almost 11:30, and I was absolutely exhausted. But I didn't feel sick, which was good. took some anti-nausea meds just to be safe, and went to sleep.

Tour de Chemo- Stage 1

Today was long as hell. Left my house at 9 AM, got back 11:30 PM. I'm fucking beat. I'll post more tomorrow.

Tour de Chemo- Prologue

Well, tomorrow I begin my chemotherapy treatments, or the Tour de Chemo as I am referring to it as. I figure since it is July, the Tour de France would make a good metaphor. Plus, there is a possibility that I might actually be on EPO before this whole ordeal is finished. But today was the prologue- a few preliminary things before the real thing gets underway. Tonight, in preparation, I had to take seven anti-nausea pills. Good thing they weren't huge horse chokers or anyhting, but seven pills at a time is still a lot to swallow.

I went for a bike ride today. I did about seventeen miles on my road bike. I felt pretty good, all things considered. I mean, I've been hacking up shit for the last few days, and my lower back on my left side hurts, but other than that I had a great ride. Up until the final three miles, that is. You see, after a typically wet and cold Catskill Mountain 4th of July, I woke up today to blue skies and sunshine. I vowed that I would get a ride in today, no matter what. So around 3:30, I clicked into my pedals. I was even maintaining a decent pace, despite my lack of fitness. I was feeling great.

But halfway through the ride the blue skies turned to grey. No worries, I thought. It was a light greay, and the clouds didn't appear very ominous. Unfortunately, the direction I was heading was also the direction of some much darker clouds. I picked up the pace, hoping to make it home before getting caught in any weather. With Jim Morrison singing "Riders on the Storm" playing in my head, I pushed the biggest gear I could home. Unfortunately, I was about ten minutes late. Three miles from home, the rain started. nd it wasn't a drizzle, but rather a full on downpour. I pedaled with all of my energy those final miles, just wanting to get home and dry. I finally made it home, got into a hot shower, grabbed some space on the couch, and slept until the Simpsons came on.

I Want A New Drug

Two days ago I was in absolute fucking misery. My entire body ached. I could barely move. I was groaning constantly. At one point I even needed help from my father to get off of the couch. I didn't feel like eating. I decided that there was no way I could tolerate this amount of pain any longer, so on Saturday morning I had my mother take me to the emergency room.

It was the first weekend of the summer, and the road to Cooperstown was starting to get trafficked. As I sat in the passenger seat, I wished that I felt good enough to be riding Rte. 28 on my bike. Instead, I was in agony, the thought of hopping on my Giant was just a dream. All I wanted was to get to the hospital, and have the doctor do something to make me feel better. But the baseball pilgrims had travelled from all over America, and in the midst of all the memorabillia shops and chintzy restaurants along thr roadside seemed to miss the sign that said the speed limit was 55 M.P.H. Nothing like making a long, painful trip even longer.

Now I know my body pretty well, and know how to react to the signals it sends me. This sometimes can lead to problems with doctors, especially new doctors like the one you might encounter in an ER. I had a sneaking suspicion that being on narcotics for almost a month, and the associated constipation, were probably causing some of the discomfort. Based on where I was feeling pain, I was almost certain of it. Of course the doctors need to prove this, so they made me get X-rayed a bunch of times, which will probably render me sterile. And after they looked at my insides, they confirmed what I knew all along- that I was literally full of shit.

But there is also a reason that these people go through 8 years of higher education. They thought that this was not enough of a reason for me to be experiencing the severe pain levels that I was. I was doing Rush Limbaugh-like doses of oxycontin, yet my body still felt like Joe Frazier after Muhammed Ali was done with him. They wrote me a perscrition for Fenatyl, and told me to supplement it with Advil. They also had me take it as a transdermal patch. Since my worst pain was the first thing in the morning, when I was several hours overdue for my pills, perhaps a constant supply of drugs would relieve some of that wake-up pain.

Of course, getting the stuff was another ordeal. The first two pharmacies I went to were out of stock. I experienced te same thing last week trying to get the oxycontin perscription filled. We had the pharmacist call around until they could locate a store that had it in stock. I picked up a 30 day supply, and s soon as I got home I put on a patch.

By this time I was pretty tired. So I popped a few advils, lay down on the couch, and took a nap.

When I woke up after an hour, I could not believe the change. I wasn't completely free of pain, but it felt as if I went from having my arm falling off to having a sore shoulder. I could move without aching all over. And I felt like eating. My mom went out for a pizza, and I devoured a slice, along with a bowl of fruit. I hadn't felt this good in almost a week.

Today was even better. Not only did I manage to get a decent night's sleep, but I didn't wake up in total agony. I had a huge lunch of Thai food, and for the most part didn't ache. A friend who saw me on Friday said I was completely different today. I started really to hurt when I started the oxycontin. And now that I'm off the hillbilly heroin, I feel a lot better. My doctor probably should have realized that an anti-authoritarian, Bush-hating, pro-choice liberal like me wouldn't react well to Rush's drug of choice.

This completely sucks

Tuesday mornng I headed down to NY presbyterian, thinking I would be preparing for radiation treatments to help relieve this terrible cough I hve been daling with for the last month. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Due to progression of the disease in my liver, a differnt course of action is going to be taken.

The big difference is that I will now be recieving chemotherapy. This is not the best news I could hear. Chemotherapy response rates in menanoma patients are less than spectacular, which is why I have not recieved chemo treatments in the past. Another eason that I have not had chemo before was because chemo is effective against fast growing cancers. Up until now, it has been growing very slowly according to the doctors.

For the first time, I actually am feeling sick. Weeks of coughning have irritated various muscles around my core, creating constant pain. Even with regular doses of oxycontin, I am in constant pain, and every cough feels like I have taken a body blow from Muhammed Ali. This is by far the most difficult thing I have ever had to endure, bith phsically and mentally. Previous treatments, broken bones, ecovery from surgery, even Mrs. Race's sixth grade from Hell at least had the promise of being over if I just waited long enough. But this time there are no certain answers. No telling how much longer this wil go on.

Chemo also will cause significant changes. My year-long attempt to grow long, flowing locks will be halted, and I will have to adopt he Mr. Clean look. Someone told me yesterday to expect to "lose hair wher you wouldn't think it would fall out." Well, at least it will be less painful than a Brazillian. Also related to that region, I have been advised to consider sperm banking. Oooookaaaayyyy. This was something I never had to think about before. But in the next few days I'm going to have to decide if I want to freeze my, um, genetic sample in case certain parts of me are never the same again. And I have no idea when I will drink another beer.

I really just want this whole thing to be over with, and quickly. Two weeks ago when they told me they wouldn't start radiation until July 13, I thought "I can't last another month like this." It might be even longer than that now until I'm back to normal. It's really hard right now. I'm in constant pain, and the pills don't seem to be helping all that much. I keep taking them, wondering how much pain I would be in if I stopped. There are a lot of questions, and no answers, and I guess that's the hardest thing to deal with right now.

Getting Grouchy During Downtime

The worst thing about this whole hurry up and wait situation I'm dealing with is the fact that I'm waiting to do something. Until I quit coughing, my physical activities have been limited. Basically, this means that despite all of this great summer weather, I'm on the couch when I would rather be out riding my bike. This of course, makes me a royal pain in the ass to deal with. I'm cranky, hurting, whacked on percocet, and can't go out and spin for 90 minutes to get the agression out of my system. I have a feeling that I won't begin treatment until July 9- my birthday.

I don't know why the doctors are dragging their feet on this. This is really getting on my nerves. Not only is this annoying me, I can't go in for more IL-2 treatments until this is taken care of. It's not a good dea to be going through that while having painful coughing spells.

Nothing like havng another summer taken away. Last summer I was on the DL until well into July. This summer isn't looking to be all that promising, either. I hate having this fuck up my plans, it's really annoying. When all you want to do is try and go on living a normal life, this stuff really can piss you off.

Up and atom!!!

Earlier this week I travelled down to NYC yet again (E-Z Pass should be giving me some sort of bonus rewards for the amount of time I spend on the Thruway). This time it was to Beth Israel to meet with Dr. Harris to treat me for this annoying lesion that's been making me cough so much that it hurts. The plan is to zap me with radiation beams at varied angles, so that they converge on the lesion, hopefully shrinking it so it stops irritating my trachea and making me act like the Marlboro Man late in life.

They warned me about the various side effects that I might experience. They were mainly concerned about having minor problems like nausea and the like. Now I thought exposure to radiation would have much different side effects. Bruce Banner got exposed to a gamma ray machine which caused him to become the Incredible Hulk whenever he got pissed off. Peter Parker got bit by a radioactive spider and became Spiderman. How cool would it be if after this I could climb up walls and jump off of high places without getting hurt? That would make my next trip to Whistler a hell of a blast!

Unfortunately I don't think that Professer Xavier will be calling me up after these treatments. But as long as I can breathe easy, sleep comfortably, and get back to riding my bike aain, I guess I can live without super powers.

Finally- some great news

No point in any long intros, I'm just going to come out and say it. According to my most recent CT scan (June 12), some of the melanoma lesions in my lungs have dissapeared!!!. Let me repeat that: some of the melanoma lesions in my lungs have dissapeared!!!

Here's the deal: I have been feeling like hell for the last two weeks. I have been coughing like I smoked two packs of Marlboros a day since Styx had their last hit single. A lesion near my windpipe was agitiating it, causing me to cough ad nauseum. By ad nauseum I mean it even made me puke a few times. I couldn't take it anymore, so on Monday I called my doctor. He had me go to NYC on tuesday, and decided to give me another CT scan, even though I wasn't due for one for a few more weeks.

The initial reaction was that the lesion near my windpipe had grown in the last six weeks, and that we would somehow have to reduce its size, either surgically or via radiation. Upon hearing this I began to get very depressed. For the last ear and a half, every CT has revealed worse news each time.

So today I went back to NYC to discuss various treatment options with an interventive radiologist. By chance ran into my oncologist in the building, and he told me the news. Upon further examination of the scan, some of the lesions in my lungs had disappeared. This was the first time Iheve ever gotten any good news from a CT scan since they found the first lesion in my right lung in October, 2005. Needless to say I was stoked. Later on, he also explained to me that wile the lesion that has been irritating me had indeed increased in size, he also mentioned that it appeared "necrotic", and that it may in fact be dying. Still, the doctors want to go ahead and try and decrease its size anyway, since it has been causing me so much discomfort. So got back to NYC monday morning to meet with another doctor.

It feels so good to finally hear some good news. Staying positive has been extremely difficult these last few weeks. Ths has been the first time that my cancer has actually effected my life, kept me from doing things. This news is a much needed pick me up!!!

If you're gonna be sick...

The weather here in New York has been pretty miserable these last few days. Personaly, I am glad that it has been less than perfect June conditions. For the past few days I have been feeling a bit under the weather, and logging a lot more couch time than I would like to. It makes being a lazy slug a lot easier to deal with when you don't feel like going outside anyway.

Fortunately, I have been feeling better, and the weather is supposed to improve as well. I attribute the inprovement in my health to plenty of rest and narcotics. Tylenol with codeine works! This stuff has really improved my overall well being!

It still sucks that I haven't been out on my bike for almost a week. Nothing to make me feel like a slug more than a week of physical inactivity. But considering the last ride went on I started t have spells of dizziness, perhaps some time off was a good strategey. The last thing I want to experience on my bike is a head on collision with a milk truck, brough on by a sudden lack of consciousness. Plus, I would hate to have my new bike wrecked before I even get 1000 miles on the thing.

Other than the setback I incurred last week, I have been feeling a lot beter these last few days. I realy beleive that this time the IL-2 s kicking in and attacking my melanoma. But still, I am reeling from missing out on the Ride to Montauk last weekend. This s the first time that something possibly related to my cancer has stopped me from doing something. It was kind of difficult to take, especially when I was feeling as crappy as I was this past weekend.

But, as little orphan Annie sand, the sun will come out tomorrow. The weather is supposed to warm up in the next couple of days. Perhaps I will finally bust out my mountain bike, which has been collecting dust all winter. It's been a few months since I've played in the mud, pehaps a tour over Scotch Valley, perhaps down the backside to have lunch at Nuclear BBQ is in order.

Punked

Right now, I am supposed to be in one of my favotite places in the world. I should be relaxing in at the end of Long Island, having recently compleed the Ride to Montauk. Up until 24 hours ago, I was all set. But I have been coughing like crazy all week, and yesterday I called up the doctor. They suggested that I go for a chest X-ray to make sure that I wasn't experiencing any fluid or infection in my lungs. Fortunately, there wasn't. I waited all afternoon for the doctor to call back, ut never heard anything. So I went to Rite-Aid, and picked up some over the counter cough syrup, which seemed to help out.

I was feeling to beat to make the drive from the Catskills to the Island. I decided that I would have to eat the $98 I spent, and rest up. It turned out t be the right decision. I woke up this morning feeling sick, and ended up throwing up as well. That was a good indicator that today was probably not a good day to go ride 66 miles. Even after I woke up, I spent most of the morning on the couch, sleeping intermittently.

Right now I feel the way I expected to feel last week in the hospital. Which is funny, because last week I didn't fel this bad. Perhaps the IL-2 is just taking a bit longer to kick in or something. Still, this really sucks. But if this the the penalty for kicking cancer's ass, I will gladly accept it.

I'm back

I know it’s been awhile since I checked in here, so I figured I better let everyone know what’s been going on with my life for the last week and a half.

On May 19th, I entered the Harriman Mini triathlon just north of NYC. As far as the race went, I have mixed thoughts. I think I started the swim too fast. Well, maybe not too fast, but all I know was that I was breathing too hard too fast. I have a feeling that the nerves and adrenaline at the start line elevated my heart rate, along with trying to swim in a mass of 75 other people, trying to avoid getting kicked and punched in the head the entire time. The water temperature was 63 degrees, and compared t the air that day, it actually felt warm. But about halfway through I could feel the tension from my wetsuit. It’s a surf suit, not designed to have the arm flexibility required for full on swimming. As a result of this, I spent the first ten minutes of the bike trying to get my heart rate to drop below 165. I can barely reach this when training, but for whatever reason my hear rate spikes during races. It was a cold and rainy course, but I managed to pass a few people along the way, especially on the technical, twisty descents. The run, on the other hand, totally sucked. I knew this all along, but it was worse than I had anticipated. I began to get shin splints and side stitches immediately. I think I ended up walking half of the course, and ended up taking over an hour and a half to do a 10K run.

Two days later I entered NY Presbyterian for another round of IL-2 treatments. My doctors suggested I try taking a dose of a type of chemotherapy before taking on the IL-2. Overall I managed to get 8 doses of IL-2 in me before heading home on Saturday.

I spent Sunday resting, and saw Pirates III at the movies. On Monday I felt up to doing a ride, and I took one yesterday as well. I’ve got the 66 mile Ride to Montauk this Saturday, and the weather looks good. That’s all for now.

The forecast calls for pain

Alright- it looks like I'm in for a few days fun. A week or so that will test my limits beyond anything I have ever done before. A schedule jam packed with discomfort and suffering.

Tomorrow I will punish myself by racing the Harriman Mini triathlon. 6/10 mile swim in a ball-numblingly cold lake, followed by 29 miles on the bike (with 3000' of climbing), followed by a ten K run. Why the hell did I agree to this king of misery? The same reason most men put themselves through misery- a beautiful woman convinced tham to do it. Although I will be laughing at this beautiful woman as I pass her while she is hacking her way up the hills! (Although seriously, Court, you will fucking slay this race!)

For most people the tri would constitue enough sadomasochistic behavior for one week. But I, as we all know, am not like most people. So on monday I wil be checking into NY Presbyterian for roughly a week, where they will be pumping my body full of chemicals, pretty much causing me to puke my guts out and forgo sleep for a few days. And to think, I remember when a week of puking and hallucinations was caled "spring break" ;)

So in 24hours I will be donning my wetsuit, nervously waiting to dive in to some cold water. At least that will inspire me to swim faster- getting the hell out of that lake is going o be a huge motivator! And even though I haven't trained in almost a week due to a strained abdominal, I'm stoked for the bike (or at least beating Ceej for this leg). As for the run, well, the run is going to suck. But I knew that all along. But at least I'll be telling myself the whole race that this won't be as painful as the next week will be. And I guess all next week I'll just be telling myself that at least this isn't as painful as the pain that so many beutiful women have put me through in the past.

Injury sucks

Well, nothing quite like hurting yourself right before the big event. It seems that I have pulled an abdominal muscle over the weekend, and it doesn not want to heal in a speedy manner. So all week I have been on the couch, trying to heal. It doesn't help that this is a very difficult muscle to relax. I mean, even simply walking stresses it.

I don't even know how I did this. It wasn't one of those instant pain situations. Rather, this was a gradual occurance. One of those next morning things. I keep hoping it will be gone the next morning, but it never is.

This totally sucks- everything was going so well. Better than I expected. And than this had to happen.

Slower=faster

An important part of training for any type of physical activity is being able to understand your own body. The more you understand your own physiological tendencies, the more efficient you can become. And you can apply the appropriate techniques that will provide you with the ptimum result.

Even though I have been riding bikes somewhat seriously for almost 20 years now, this year is the first time I have ever had a computer that measures cadence. I wish I had invested in one of these things years ago, because in the last two days I have made a startling discovery.

Conventional wisdom states that the optimum pedaling cadence for a cyclist is abut 90 RPM. In the past would measure this by counting my revolutions for fifteen seconds, than multiply by four. I would usually end up with a cadence pretty close to 90 RPM.

As soon as I installed the new computer, I discoverd that my cadence was actualy in the high 90s. No big deal, I thought. Efficient spinning. Good form. Just like Lance. So I would try to keep my cadence around 95 RPM, shifting gears in order to maintain the pace.

Now, one thing I crtainly need to improve upon is my leg strength and power. One of the better methods for this is to do intervals pushing a bigger gear at a lower cadence. So yesterday I decided to do a few five minute repeats, sing a big enough gear to keep my cadence around 80 RPM, and my pulse around 150 BPM.

To my surprise, when I started to push the bigger gear, I noticed something. In order to get to 150 BPM, I had to push a really big gear, and was flying. Now I intended to recvover between intervals spinning out in a low gear, around 100RPM with a pulse around 130. I decided to recover at the lower cadence, and see what happenned. I was able to go faster at 130 BPM by pushing a bigger gear than I was spinning a smaller gear at the same heart rate. I ended up having the fastest average speed of any ride I have had all year!

So I decided to try the bigger gear/slower cadence during my ride today. Even though my main focus today was climbing some steep hills, where for some pitches you don't care what your cadence is, yo just try to keep moving. On the flats I tried to keep my cadence around 80-85 RPM, and noticed an increase in average speed. I have been riding these particular roads long enough to know how fast I can go. And I was going faster than usual. All by doing one thing a little slower.

Rider-I mean RUNNER- on the storm

Pop quiz, boys and girls. How do you the second half of a six mile run faster than your first? No, Spike, it's not the shoes. Sorry, Court, it's not pop-tarts either, but if it works for you, more power to you. And it's not EPO either, Mr. Pound- and shouldn't you be off conspiring with the French and witch hunting cyclists?

No, the answer is meteorological. Specifically, a thunderstorm. Nothing to make you pick up the pace than seeing the storm clouds forming when you've got three miles to get back to your car. And it's a lot easier to raise your pain threshold when you see lighting strikes, followed by a thunderclap a lot sooner, and louder, than you would like to hear it. Yeah, running hurts, but I have a suspiscion that getting struck by lightning hurts a lot more.

Fortunately, I managed to finish my run before getting zapped by 1.21 gigawatts of electricity, or ending up taking a shower before I got naked first. Although the cooler air form the low pressure system did provide me with a nice breeze. Even though I ran home into a headwind, it was like having a nice fan blowing cool air in my face as I ran.

Or maybe I was faster on the return because it was slightly downhill.

Word of the month.

I have decided that my word of the month will be attack. One of the definitions for this word is to set upon in a forceful, violent, hostile, or aggressive way, with or without a weapon; begin fighting with. This is my attitude toward cancer. I'm going to attack this with every weapon at my disposal. Medical, mental, nutritional, I'm going after this motherfucker. Things need to change up a bit, need to take a different approach. I beileve that if I am so exhausted from working out, my body won't have anything left for the cancer cells. All of my nutrients and energy will go toward making me stronger, leaving nothing to fuel the cancer cells. Starve those bastards, basically.

Another defitition is to set about (a task) or go to work on (a thing) vigorously. So I am attacking my training and my movie. These two things take up the majority of my day. Not only does this keep me focused, it keeps my mind off of more negative things. If I'm too busy trying to get faster on the bike or improve my running endurance, I don't have time to dwell on melanoma. And worrying about getting enough good footage and music rights is far more productive than worrying about how much the IL2 treatment is going to suck. I even have a plan of what to specifically attack when I'm stuck in the hspital in a few weeks.

S right now I have gone into attack mode. It mght be time to start listenng to those Rollins Band albums again, get into te correct mindset. It's time to end the defensive mindset, and begin to attack.

Update

It’s been almost a week since I received the news that I still haven’t yet delivered the knockout punch to my melanoma. So far, I haven’t received any further news from my doctor about the next step to take, although I’m fairly certain that I will hear something tomorrow. A lot of people have been wondering how I have been handling things in the days since hearing the bad news.

Mainly, I have been working out. Every day I have done two of the following: swam, ran, or gone for a bike ride. (The exception being today- Mondays are rest days) I have actually reached the point where when I run I no longer suffer from shin splints after a mile or so. The Harriman Triathlon is less than two weeks from today, and I have every intention of being on the start line. I also plan on doing the full 100 mile route on June 2nd’s Ride to Montauk.

Mentally, I am doing okay. Probably as good or better than could be expected for someone in my situation. I haven’t had a Brian Wilson meltdown, becoming a bedridden hermit or anything like that. A few minor panic attacks here and there, but half of those are not even related to the cancer and probably would have happened anyway.

I’ve been working on my documentary, spending hours in front of the computer editing. It’s looking pretty good, although I do tend to swear at the monitor. A lot. The more high tech you go, the more things can potentially (and will actually) go wrong.

I wish I had more information to tell you all, but as of today I don’t know a hell of a lot more than I knew last week. I’ll keep you updated, though, as soon as more information becomes available to me.

Cold air masses

The other day my mother remarked that we don't seem to have much of a spring season anymore. It almost seems like we go from winter to summer. These last few days have really felt that way. Even though it has been sunny, it sure as hell has not been warm. A lot of cold winds have been blowing around, and I cn't figure out where all of this cold air is coming from.

Back when I was in colege at SUNY Fredonia, campus was about two miles from Lake Erie. I would often go for long bike rides, particularly during finals wek when I probably should have been studying. But that's besides the point. I would sometimes ride south into Chatauqua County, and when I would get into the hills it would be a warm, spring day. But if I decided to ride home on Route 5, which basically followed the Lake Erie shoreline, there would be a very cold breeze coming off of the lake. Obviously a huge mass of water that was maybe 40 degrees F would cool the air traveling across its surface.

But here in the landlocked Catskills, there is no lake of ice water cooling the air. Just bitter winds that seem to blow right through your skin chilling you to the bones. And I really wish that they would go away. As much as I love to ski, I have hung up my sticks for the time being, and want to see green trees and wear shorts comfortably. It's May, I shouldn't be freezing or having to turn up the heat.

Red Tape

Well, I was hoping to know what my next round of treatments would be by this evening, but apparently I'm going to have to wait a little bit longer to find out what the next plan of attack is going to be. Because the last round of treatments involved a double blind study of a protocol awaiting F.D.A. approval, my doctor has had to go through a bunch of channels to find out exactly what medication I was recieveing the last few months. Apparently, I was getting and approved medication, so now the challenge is to get an exception for me and allow me to knowingly take the unapproved (but promising) protocol.

I read that it costs over $1billion to introduce a new medication on the market. That goes for the stuff that ends up being unapproved as well. That's why drugs cost so much damn money (the lesson here, kids, is that you should learn how to grow your own pot). And a big reason for these extensive studies is the legal system. I never could understand the mentality of some people. I mean, we live in a country where people will sue someone who gives them CPR for cracking heir ribs in the process. Excuse me, asshat, but if you didn't revieve CPR, you would be a DEAD MOTHERFUCKER! I'd reather be a living motherfucker with a cracked rib than a dead motherfucker with a perfectly healthy rib. But that's just me. I mean, I also think that the skiing at Snowbird is better than Alta, so what do I know?

Taking the power back

Last night I talked to two friends of mine who told me that even if I spend all of next wek in the hospital getting the shit pounded out of me by IL2, I should still enter and start that triathlon I signed up for on May 19. Earlier in the day I had already gotten back on the horse (a carbon fiber horse) and rode 31 miles. Now right now I am not anywhere near to being what I would call in shape, so today I decided that I needed to test my body.

First stop: the campus of SUNY Delhi, the nearest pool where I can swim laps. I figured that I might as well try for 1000m, the didtance of the swim leg of the Harriman race. After seven or eight links (a link is a half lap, or 25m. It takes 40 links to swim 1000m) my arms began to get sore. But I was determined to swim until I reached my goal or my arms gave out. And my arms didn't give out. After a few more laps the pain faded, and I just kept on swimming, until I finally counted to 40. I felt so good that I even did a few more laps for god measure. Plus, it cost me three bucks to use the damn pool, and I wanted my money's worth.

I hoped into my car, and drove home. But first I stopped at the local rail trail to go for a run. Wanted to run four miles, but the trail only has mileage markers at road crossings. So I calculated the distance from one road to another via the trail to be 2.3 miles, 4.6 roundtrip. Again my philosophy was to run until I couldn't run anymore. I had my iPod on, and had a playlist designed for a 45 minute running workout. Actually,it's 48 minutes to be precise. And I swear that iPod helped me run the entire distance (okay, I slowed down to walk around a few puddles and cross one of the roads, but never more than a few steps at a time) Every time I felt like giving up, the next song would take me to the next level. I mean, you can't fucking quit when you hear "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys or the Rollins Band destroying their way through "Tearing". I mean, I wouldn't want Henry to think I'm a pussy. And I finished my 4.6 mile run in 48 minutes on the nose.

It felt good to reach these numbers today. I now know I have the endurance to swim the distance, and the run was a PR as far as distance goes. I don't know when, if ever, I have run that far without stopping.

On a related note, I recieved this in an email from an oncologist friend in SLC: For responders to immunotherapy (and I would cautiously put in you that category), we sometimes can see waxing and waning of metastatic lesions. That news helps to give me hope, and makes it easier to get into a positive frame of mind.

Time to make a run

In the last 24 hours, I have recieved a lot of support messages from people. I was thinking of a good metaphor, and I guess it's like playing basketball. You might be losing a game, and thinking your defeated. But the crowd is still behind you, cheering. That's when you have to step it up, hustle your ass off, and take those big shots. It's easy to win when your ahead. But it's those come from behind wins that you remember. And even though there are only a few guys on the floor playing the game, all of those people in the stands share the experience of winning.

Right now I'm down by ten. There's plenty of time on the clock left. But the sooner I start to cut into that lead, the better. It's time to take things to the next level. Reach inside and accomplish things that I never thought I could do before. SHUT THAT MOTHERFUCKER DOWN!!! Take the big shot, make the big steal, grab the important rebound. Work harder than the opponent. Fuck the odds. Remember the 1980 US Olympic Hockey team. Nobody is unbeatable. Everyone has it's weakness. Gotta find the weakness, exploit it, and take it the fuck out!!!

Overcome by fear

Today my worst fear came true, again. Yet another round of treatment has failed to get control of the melanoma in my lungs. Naturally, I am extremely upset right now. It is becoming much more difficult to try and maintain a positive outlook on things.

The news today was much worse than previous visits. It seems that the progression this time was more severe than it had been in the past. Even though the doctors are telling me that things are relatively small, it is not comforting news to me.

Right now I am in shock and incredibly angry. Angry at a lot of things. This news is just incredibly painful to accept. Plans that I had made are yet again being pushed away, the future yet again filed with uncertainness. I just want my fucking life back. I want to move forward, not be stuck in a holding pattern. I’ve been dealing with this for a year now, trying anything and everything. Yet there are still no fucking answers, just more questions.

It’s going to be a rough couple of weeks. I was feeling kind of depressed as it was. I had a few things I was looking forward to and planning, but now a lot of that will have to be put on hold. Like this triathlon I had been training for in a few weeks. It looks like next week I will probably be back in the hospital on Interleukin II again. A week of that will pretty much negate any training that I have done. There is pretty much no way that I will be able to swim 1000 meters, bike 29 miles, and run a ten K a week after I get out. I have also been thinking strongly about moving back to New York City and concentrating on my career. I’m not so sure about that now. Hell, moving anywhere. I’m stuck back at my parents’ house, living in the town I never liked living in. I don’t really have any friends here anymore, nobody to talk to or go out with or just to do things with to take my mind off of all of this shit.

I haven’t been this scared in a long time, if ever. Hearing the bad news doesn’t get easier, it gets harder. The more times you hear it, the less hope you have. You try to ignore the statistics and the negative facts, but you can’t. I can’t help but wonder what is going to happen to me.

I can not rationalize any of this. This doesn’t make sense to me. Just about everything I think of is pissing me off. There is a lot of rage in me right now, as well as a deep sadness. I’m too sad to even cry. I don’t want to do anything. There’s nothing to say. Nothing anyone can say to me. I feel emotionally numb. I’m trying to get excited about something. Anything. I can’t think of anything at the moment. I don’t even want to listen to the new Dinosaur Jr. album- the first one with the original lineup in nearly two decades- that I downloaded last night, hours after its release.

It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. If it was a nice day, I might go out for a long bike ride to take my mind off of things. But if I wake up tomorrow to the sound of raindrops pelting my window, I probably won’t even want to get out of bed. I’m not looking forward to waking up tomorrow. I just want to stay in my dreams, where none of this shit will be there to bother me. Actually, I hope I don’t have any dreams tonight. If I dream, than I only get to wake up to disappointment. I’ve had enough of that, I don’t need anymore.

Fuck, how the hell am I supposed to cope with this? I don’t have any fucking clue. I just wish I could go back in time and change things. Can’t help but think if only I had caught this sooner I wouldn’t be in this situation. I would have gone on with my life and been doing whatever it is people do with their lives. I’d still have worries, like car payments and global warming, but I wouldn’t be questioning how much time I might have before I die. That’s a pretty damn tough thing to have to think about. Nobody has given me any sort of timetable (and that’s good), but it doesn’t stop me from worrying. I mean, I’m not talking about a broken bone or a torn ACL, I’m dealing with fucking cancer.

I’m trying hard to be positive, I really am. But it’s not easy. The fear is overwhelming, nearly paralyzing. I feel like I’m looking out into a void, wondering what is out there. I’m looking for some light, but for now all I see is darkness out there. Even if there is light at the end of this tunnel, I know it is going to be a rough road. The IL2 treatment beats the shit out of you. If it works this time, I’m certainly willing to take it. A few days in hell is a small price to pay to get this shit out of my body. And it showed signs of working the last time. And in conjunction with the last round of therapy, it might be just the combination I need to defeat this once and for all.

I should know what is going to happen next in a few days. My doctor has to make a few calls, talk to a few people, before coming up with a game plan. But until then, it’s going to be a rough week of waiting. At least when I’m in treatment, I feel like I’m fighting, being proactive. Right now I just want to hide away, though. Disappear. Disconnect from reality. I wish I knew what to say to make me feel better, but I don’t. I haven’t felt this bad in a long time. I just want it to go away.

I ran, I ran so far away...

First of all, yes, you can all comment about how lame I am for quoting the Flock of fucking Seagulls. But today I went on a run further than 100m and I didn't hurt. After a long day of geting poked and prodded (blood tests and a CT scan) a returned to Jan's place in Brooklyn a little stressed out. I don't know what was stressing me so much. Probably nothing related to the fact that the results of this scan will let me know if the experimental medicine I have been shooting up for the last two and a half months is kicking the cancer's ass or not. Anyway, I got back to Bushwick, put on my sneakers, started blasting Wolfmother on the iPod, and began to run. And run. And run some more. And not once did I get any shin splints or side stitches. And tha felt pretty damn good.

I suck

Well, today I comletely blew off training. Granted, it was supposed to be an easy day- a 3 mile run. I guess I didn't feel like running around for a half hour in Bushwick, Brooklyn after a huge burrito. Furthermore, I plan on drinking copius amounts of beer tonight. Good thing I brought my bike down here. I need to put in a few miles this weekend.

Why I didn't post the commentary I wanted to.

I was all set to post my opinion about certain recent events, but I decided against it. Why? Because I'm a paranoid motherfucker. The way certain things are these days, the last thing I want to do is start posting stuff with keywords that might alert some sort of government search engine. I mean, for the last five and a half years, our civil liberties have been eroded. I'm sure I'm already on some sort of list after getting busted at the 2004 Republican Convention, the last thing I need is to get on some sort of other list, get cross referenced, and the next thing you know there's a black van following me around. I mean, I live in upstate NY. My nearest neighbor is nearly a quarter mile away. If I see a carpet cleaning van parked across the street, it's going to look suspicious. And since out here in the sticks we only have dial-up, people can't download porn at the speed of light so they will end up talking about the van in front of my house. And they will figure out I'm being watched by some government agency, and talk about what I must be doing. I was always a bit of a renegade growing up, will they think I'm some sort of radical?

Anyway, I had some really good things to post, stuff that would make people think and discuss stuff. But the FBI's version of Google might flag me as someone suspicious. And really, I don't need that kind of aggrivation right now. The running aspect of this triathlon is aggrivation enough. Hasn't the triathlon world figured out that if you own a bike worth $7000, running is really stupid? I mean, even a mediocre cyclist can do 26 miles in 2 and a half hours, a time that all but the most elite runners would kill for. Did it ever occur to them that if they would just stay on the bike for the run phase they would get to the finish so much faster?

Transitions

If one word could summarize my life this week, it would be transitions. Webster's defines "transition" as: a passage from one state, stage, subject, or place to another. Just about every aspect of my life is in transition these days.

First of all would be the transition from ski season. This past Sunday at Alta was my final day of skiing for the 2006-07 season. A season, which I am proud to say was injury free. After sufferring fractures the last two seasons, not spending any time in an emergency room this winter was a big relief. Besides, I spend enough time in hospitals as it is, I don't need to wind up there any more than I need to be.

The next transition would be leaving Vermont to return to New York full time. I'm back to living at home, and even though the surroundings are familiar, it doesn't quite seem comfortable. Hopefully I will make another transition in the next few weeks, from Upstate to NYC. It's been ten years since I first lived in the Big Apple, and I think I might be ready to return.

As loyal readers of this blog are well aware, in less than one month I will participate in a triathlon. The phase of the race between the swim and bike or bike and run are called transitions as well. Today I began training for this event, swimming, biking, and running in the same day. It was cold and raining today, and after ten miles on the bike my toes were completely numb. I planned to run as soon as I finished my ride, but my transition was slowed down by my desire to put on a pair of warm, dry socks. After a mile or so of running, I finally regained feeling in my toes.

Things are changing this week. Life as I have known it for the last five months is over. It is time to focus on new things. Skiing is no longer the focal point of my existance. Now there are a myriad of things of which I am concerned with. In addition to triathlon training, I am concerned with finishing my movie, and simply getting on with life in general. I have been kind of a hermit since December, now it's time to rejoin society (or at least rejoin society as much as it is possible for me). Although, to be honest, I'm not sure exactly where to begin my new life. I'm sure I will figure things out soon enough, but for now, to quote the title of a snowboarding DVD, I'm simply Lost in Transition.

The final(?) shots

This afternoon I recieved what will hopefully be my last cancer treatment. The final round of this experimental vaccine I am involved in a trial for was administered to me today at New York Presbyterian. And hopefully this is the knockout punch that we all have been hoping for.

For over a year now I have been living with the cloud of cancer over my head. It has been an experience, to say the least. But to be honest, the experience has not been entirely negative. I mean, other than the fact that I have fucking cancer, a lot of great things have happenned to me during the last year or so.

One thing about the last year is all of the amazing people who I have gotten to know. From the Upper East Side to West Virginia, from Lake Tahoe to Glacier, WA. The people I have had the priveledge to meet and become friends with the last couple of months has been amazing. It is a great feeling to know that there are a lot of people out tere who are not only pulling for you, but are also inspired by you. Especially when someone like Ingrid Backstrom tells you this.

Tomorrow the Kicking Cancer's Ass tour kicks off it's final leg, to Utah. I will return to Little Cottonwood Canyon, one of my favorite places on Earth. These will be my final ski days of the season. Upon my return I will start crash-training for a triathlon. Not a bad way to continue kicking cancer's ass.

But for now all I am thinking about is this final round of treatment. I really hope this one will work. My oncologist is very optimistic about this new drug. Considering this is someone who routinely has to tell people that they only have weeks left to live, this is a good sign. And all I can do is keep a positive attitude about this.

Moving On

Well, tonight is my last night in the house that I have called home for the last 4 1/2 months. It's hard to believe that I was here that long- the time really flew by. It seems like only last week I was unloading my quiver, cursing the warm weather and lack of snow. Now we have a lot of snow on the ground, and I am putting my skis into the Thule for he last time.

Next week I fly to Utah for five days, and after that the big question needs to be answered; "What's next?" I'll spend the next four weks training like a madman so I don't die in the triathlon I signed up for. I've really been slacking. Of course, I didn't think that March and April were going to bring lot's of snowstorms either. Based on early season weather, I figured I'd have a few hundred miles under the rubber by now. But my training has consisted of skiing hard every day. Beats sitting on the couch, but will it help me run 6.2miles?

In addition, I'll spend too many hours in front of my Avid cutting Normalcy. Hopefully that will finish up by the end of June, early July at the latest. But what do I do when I finish that?

One thing I am not looking forward to is moving back into my parents' house. To be honest, I never really liked living there. I'm considering moving back to NYC, but I'm not 100% sure if that's what I really want to do. The last time I lived in NY it didn't work out so well. Of course now I'm a lot older and wiser. And more importantly, I have a support system in plae that I didn't have in 1999.

So tonight I spend my last night in West Dover, VT. The next ten days will be chaotic- moves, hospital visits, plane flights. Not a lot of time for rest. I even skipped skiing today to rest up (I have a cold and didn't think driving 150 miles to play in a snowstorm was wise considering my upcoming schedule). I'll return from Utah with hours of videotape that must be chisled down to an entertaining, informative final product. I'll swim, bike, and run until I puke. But what will happen next??? Stay tuned...

Stuck Inside

Well, here it is outside- a warm, sunny spring day, and I'm stuck inside. I think all of the running around I've been doing these last couple of days has worn me down a bit, and now my sinuses are clogged up and I'm laid up with a cold. This sucks royally. Normally, I might ty and push myself, but I have a busy week and a half lined up ahead of me. They're pridicting a ton of snow tomorrow, and the last thing I want is to be laid up for another powder day. And I really can't be running around Utah at 8-10 thousand feet if I'm having a hard time breathing at a much lower elevation. So as I look out the window on this bluebird day, feeling guilty about watching "Beauty and the Geek" on MTV, I have to remind myself that one day off today will prevent a much longer stretch of downtime in the future.

Closed!??!??

Well, yeterday I skied my last runs of the season at Mt. Snow. In a huge storm. It's hard to believe that I will no longer be lapping the North Face or bombing Ego Alley. Especially considering that there was fresh snow on my deck when I woke up this morning. But I guess all good thigs must come to an end. Fortunately, the season isn't over yet for me. I'll get in a few more days at K-Mart, and next week I head to Utah for five days. But upon my return from Osmondland, I will have to put a thick coat of wax on my quiver for the summer.

But all is not lost. If you can't ski, you can bike!!! And I plan on putting in a lot of miles beginning on April 23. Granted, it's kind of a late start to the season, but at least it's better than last year. Because one year ago today, I suffered a fracture of my tibial plateau. OUCH!!! It still causes me some discomfort, but when I think about the misery that I had experienced one year ago, it's not that bad.

I'm feeling kind of down right now. Transition, I guess. I'm not looking forward to heading back to Delaware County. I'm thinking about relocating to NYC for the summer. Makes sense- if I can't move west and have to maintain easy access to Manhattan, why not move to one of the four buroughs (no way am I going to live on Staten Island). So if you know of a cheap place in the city that doesn't have crack whores next door, please let me know.

It was a Good Friday

When I heard thursday night that Mad River Glen was reopening on Friday with over a foot of new snow, I thought about getting up early and hitting it. When I also heard that there would be $29 lift tickets, and knowing that this would probably be my last chance to ride the old single before it gets renovated this summer, the decison to wake up before dawn was a no-brainer. So with a 5:30 AM wake up call, I headed up Rte. 100 to MRG.

I arrived at about 9:10, giving me 20 minutes to boot up, get a pass, and get in line for the sinlge- which was the only lift running. I didn't get first chair, but I'm sure I was amongst the first 50. If I was at Jay or Snowbird, that would probably equate to first tram, so I wasn't too upset.

I met up with a few of my Maggot freinds from TGR, and we spent the day ripping up the place. The snow was amazing- hard to believe it was New England. This was the lightest pow I have ever skied in the East.

I arrived home dead tired, and sore. But it was worth it. Earklier this week I was sure that the season was over. But I guess those of us who demonstrate patience and perserverance are rewarded.

Happy Birthday Mr. Radical

This post is dedicated to Mr. Jan-Luc Van Damme, who hits the big 3-0 today. That means for three decades he has been resisting his Catholic upbringing to live a life on the edge of normal society. While his brothers and sisters live normal lives, Jan spends his life in Brooklyn, working on creating independent films www.nullsetfilms.com completely devoid of outside interest. While his mother can be found at church every Sunday, Jan will most likely be in bed, naked, and if he isn't still drunk, he is certainly hung over. For three decades the world has been blessed with yet another soul who refuses to live his life by an arbitrary set of rules, insted choosing to do whatever the fuck he pleases. It's hard to believe that I have known this guy for over 2/3 of his life! That means for over a decade he has been my partner in crime sometimes literally, like the 2004 Republican convention that saw me end up in handcuffs, other times by producing Porch Guys (which I promise, will come out on DVD sometime before I turn 40). Anyway, Jan, here's to the big 3-0. Remember, just because you are 30, doesn't mean you have to act responsibly. After all, I haven't!!!!

Rainy Days and Mondays

Well, I sure as hell never thought I would be quoting the Carpenters on my blog, but today the line "rainy days and mondays always get me down" seemed appropriate. Because today is a rainy monday. I awoke to the sound of raindrops and sleet pelting my windows. To make matters worse, for some reason the heat in my house decided to go out. So after a trip to the basement to restart the boiler, I pulled out my sleeping bag and crawled in to watch some TV. I turned on the Weather Channel- 40 degrees and rain. Probably the worst forecast you can get. I can deal with the cold. I can even deal with the rain somewhat. But cold rain- that I just can not deal with. So eventually the boiler gave me enough hot water to take a shower. I decided that I should probably do something today,so I geared up and drove to Mt. Snow to get in a few turns. Only to realize that I had left my boots back at the house. I took a lap through the parking lot to decide if it would be worth going back and getting my boots. The entire mountain was socked in, barely any visibility at all. And the Canyon Express lift was empty and the bullwheel wasn't turning. I took that as a sign that today would be National Sucker's Day. So I went home. I know. I suck.

Anticipation

Well, I was hoping for one big storm before Spring, and it looks like I'm geting it. Right now a Nor'Easter is blowing across southern Vermont, dumping a ton of snow. Yeah, tomorrow should be good. It feels like Christmas Eve- just waiting for the next morning to arrive. They are calling for up to 2 feet of new snow- SWEET!!!! Especially since today felt like I was skiing on an inclined hockey rink. The drop in temps after a few days of rain hardened everything up real good. Good thing I sharpened my edges last night!

Good day on the hill

I had a real good day skiing today, for various reasons. First of all, it was bluebird. Gotta love sunshine. Second, there was good company. My friend Josh headed up for the day, and we spent most of the time trying to spray each other with snow from the tails of out twin-tipped skis.

But the real reason today was so good was because A: I finally sacked up and hit a few kickers in the park. Ever since my tib-fib fracture last year, I've been trying to keep the skis on the ground. But with some nice soft snow, I figured today was as good as any to try hucking my meat again. That first jump was the hardest, wondering if I would have the speed to clear the knuckle, wondering if I would crash, wondering if the park rats would laugh at my lack of steeze. But I pointed 'em, popped, and landed on the transistion. After that I was hooked, and tried to go bigger all day.

Reason B is the phone call I got after making my first halfpipe attempt of the season. It turns out that the mole I had removed from my back was NOT a melanoma. Given all of the bad news I have had recently in this regard, it was nice to finally get some good news on the medical front.

Beginning of the end???

"This is the end, my beautiful friend, the end"
-Jim Morrison

Well, after a late start to the season, for the last few weeks we have actually been getting some snow here in So. Vermont. But that changed last night, as a spout of rain fell from the sky. This probably signals the beginning of the end of the ski season. Sure enough, ther brown spots had already begun to appear mid slope, a sure sign of the encroachment of spring.

Now, I am not dreading the end of the ski season per se, but rather that transition phase. I'm taliking about the next 6-8 weeks of cold, grey, piss falling from the sky. There's a reason the NCAA tournament is this time of year- the only thing good to do on the weekend is park yourself in front of a TV and watch a lot of basketball. Also, this is the perfect time of year to get the hell out of the Northeast. Some better planning on my part probably would have had me heading to Utah or Colorado in the next week or so, and actually if all of my friends in Utah hadn't been unavailable, I'm sure I would be drinking green 3.2 beer this St. Paddy's day.

So now I must endure a month and a half of misery, every ski day one day closer to closing day. I fear that the snowpack has peaked, and every day we will see the base depth decrease instead of increase. I hope for one more storm to blow through, and perhaps some of this rain will translate into snow up at Tuck's. But for now I can only break out the soft wax, and hope that the green spots don't grow too fast.

Priorities

I woke up this morning to see at least 8 inches of new snow on my deck. I knew that it was new, because when I went to bed last night, there was none on that same deck. I decided that this morning I would have to skip a shower and complete breakfast. Getting to the hill before it got tracked out was of utmost importance. I grabbed my fat skis and headed out.

Unfortunately, there was 8 inches of snow to clear off of my car. I frantically wiped, brushed, and shoveled snow out of the way to enable me to leave the driveway. I even threw my skis in the backseat to avoid the extra 30 seconds it would have taken to clear the snow off of the Thule box. Should have put them in last night, I thought. Oh well, I can't dwell on past mistakes.

I parked my car, and changed into my boots, and boarded the Grand Summit Express as fast as I could. There were very few tracks on Exhibition, and I considered taking a lap down the main face, perhaps grabbing some first tracks on Ego Alley, before heading over to the steeps of the North Face. Nope. Instead I headed down Challenger, before veering off onto PDF and Plummet. Than it was two quick laps through the Epiphany glades, before skirting the ski area border for a few runs though the dense trees of The Trials.

The morning went by fast, my iPod blasting through the headphones of my new Giro. Skiing through Vermont cream cheese through the forest, whooshing between the branches, with a few trips down the usually icey mogul field of Ripcord. After three hours of nonstop laps down the North Face, I headed in for some fuel.

By the time I finished lunch, the snow began to turn into freezing rain. But there was still some good snow in the trees, and over at Sunbrook there was still some untracked to be found in the Darkside of the Moon. Denser trees and being away from the expert terrain on the north face left a few afternoon stashes for me.

By 2 PM my jacket was coated in ice, as the rain began to freeze on contact. My ass was numb, frozen after too many rides on ice coated chairlifts. The trees were chopped up, and a crust had formed on top of my cream, the whooshes replaced with crunches. A trip to the Carinthia side to check out Claim Jumper glades proved to be an exercise in futility. I called it a day, went home, put in a half-hour spin on the trainer, and finally took a shower.

It's all about the bike.

Why the hell did I say I would do this? What did I get myself into? Will I even survive this ordeal? I’m talking, of course, about doing a triathlon. When my friend Courtney signed up for the Ironman Kentucky last fall, I said I would enter her first triathlon with her for moral support (no, I’m not doing an Ironman, I’m not that much of a masochist.

So I agreed to enter a race at Harriman State Park in May. The other day I looked on my calendar, and realized that the race is about ten weeks away. And my training regimen has consisted of a lot of skiing, but not much else. So today I did my first “brick” workout. Bricks are when you train in two of the disciplines in a row to simulate race conditions. Of course, as with everything else in my life, I decided to do it bass ackwards. Instead of riding the bike before going out for a run, I decided to run first, than bike.

Now, the race I’ve entered features a 10 kilometer, or 6.2 mile run. I have never done that distance in my life. So right now my plan is to run 3X a week, adding an extra K each week until I can run a full 10K. I’m not worried about the 29 mile bike section, I can ride 30 miles any time. So I went out for a mile run today. The first half mile, I felt great. Second half mile, not so much. This is going to be a lot harder than I expected. As happens every time I run, I wished I was on my bike. I mean, all of this technology, why resort to the most primitive form of transportation known, right? Plus, the return trip I was running into the wind. Not a nice, tropical breeze either, but a bitter cold, winter in Vermont wind.

Upon arriving home I retreated to the relative safety of my basement, where my trainer was set up. I put in a steady 40 minute effort, no problem (okay, my ass needs to get used to this again, but otherwise…). Now why was 40 minutes on the bike a breeze, but probably not much more tan a ten minute run nearly killed me? The answer is simple.

Running sucks. It's all about the bike.

quick update

Yeah, I know I've sort of been AWOL for awhile. It's been a busy few weeks for me. The second half of the Tahoe trip was pretty hectic, including a 16 hour day involving driving from South ake to Mammoth, shooting all day in a blizzard, and heaing back to South Lake with a detour through Carson City to stop at the In 'N' Out Burger.

The following Monday I was supposed to begin getting my experimental cancer treatements in NYC, but that was delayed until Thursday. Which was the day after the snowstorm, so Manhattan was a total junk show of muddy slush. Than I headed back to VT for a few days, back to NY for another doctor's visit, and finally back to VT, where it is snowing again and hopefully I will ski some pow tomorrow.

Hopefully I can provide a few pics of tomorrow's goodies.

Sorry I haven't checked in for awhile, but I've been too busy skiing in Lake Tahoe California to write anything.

It's been a busy week. Last weekend I drove from my cousin Rachel's in San Francisco to my friend Lindsay in Sacremento.

I skied at Kirkwood for two days, before heading to South Lake Tahoe, where my friend Matt booked a condo for the week.

Monday was spent at Squaw Valley, where I skied with Ingid Backstrom
and Cody Townsend, two of the best freeskiers in the world. Nothing like having a few Warren Miller rockstars giving you the tour of their backyard. Tuesday and Thursday wre spent at Heavenly, on the CA/NV border. Today it was back to Kirkwood, for some real powder skiing!!!!

48 hours- what a difference

This morning, walking around San Francisco's Chinatown, I was thinking about how far I had come, and how much things had changed since Tuesday. The previous 24 hours have certainly happened at a fast pace.

Tuesday was spent being a human lab rat in New York. Bloodwork, a CT scan, and an MRI took up my day. It was cold outside, and the majority of the day was spent hurrying up and waiting. On the culinary front, I got to have some sushi, though, so that was cool.

Yesterday consisted of four airports, two planes, and a long day of travel. I woke up to temperatures in the low teens in Hobart, NY, before heading up to Albany to leave for California. The first leg had me flying to Baltimore, mainly because I think you can't fly anywhere on Southwest without changing planes there. I even think there flight from Long Beach to Oakland requires that you change planes in Baltimore. I had a burrito in Baltimore, because, well, I didn't feel like McDonalds or Chinese food. From Baltimore, it was on to Kansas City, where the airport is literally in the middle of nowhere. I don't know how far away downtown is, but the area surrounding the airport did not resemble that of a city that is home to an NFL and Major League franchise. When almost the entire plane got off in KC, I was worried that somehow I was on the wrong flight. I wasn't, though, and soon took off for Oakland. Upon my arrival in Raider Nation, I got into a cab for San Francisco. Apparently bay area cabs don't have fixed airport fares like they do in NYC, and my cab cost me nearly 2/3 my flight out.

Today I enjoyed the touristy side of San Francisco. I think that being a meteorologist here has got to be an easy gig. High fifties and cloudy is probably your forecast 90% of the time. This place is hilly, too. I wonder how much wear it is on your emergency brake when you are parallel parked on a 25% grade?

So it's been a busy three days, and it's not slowing down anytime soon. Tomorrow I head to Sacramento, the same town as Governor Terminator. Than on Saturday I will make my Sierra skiing debut at Kirkwood. Hopefully Tyrone doesn't misguide me towards Hospital Air.

Apprehension and revealation

Well, tomorrow I get to go into NYC to be a human lab rat for the day. I've got a full schedule at NY Presbyterian- bloodwork at 11:30, CT at 1:30, and an MRI at 4. This means that I will get needles jabbed into me three times- fun fun fun. Not to mention the fact that I'll have to fast for te CT. Nothing like having a few idle hours in Manhattan and not being able to enjoy the food.

Sometimes I wonder why I am going through all of this? I'm not a religious person, so I don't think god is testing me or I'm being punished for something I did in a previous life. All I know is that these experiences have helped me to determine who I am. Five years ago, I was living in Wilmington, NC, completely miserable. I was unemployed, broke, and hundreds of miles away from any sort of skiing. I remember watching the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, and just saying to myself "Fuck this. I'm going home." I realized that living near the mountains was important to me, and that one of the things that I was was that I was a skier. And skiers just don't live in the south.

Despite all of the hardships I am currently enduring, I am actually happier now than I have ever been at any point in my life since childhood. And a big part of that was this self discovery. For a lot of my life I was trying to be someone else. And a lot of the time it was someone else's vision of what you are supposed to be that I was trying to conform to. This often led to a bunch of bad decisions. A lot of the time, I thought I could change myself by being around people who I thought I wanted to be like. I tried to emulate them, instead of following my own way. Usually, it meant hanging out with people who I had very little in common with, and making myself believe that they were my friends. Of course they weren't. Sure, they were who I was hanging out with, spending my time with, but they sure as hell weren't my friends. Of the hundreds of people I have met in the ten years after I graduated high school, very few of them I would consider to be my friends.

It was this weekend that really brought this point home to me. I was in Vermont skiing. Saturday night we were just hanging out at the house, drinking beers and stuff. And everyone there but me was very successful. Young professionals, mostly Manhattanites, with high paying jobs. Than there was me, the 31 year old who a lot of people might think of as having his entire adult life be one big junk show. Hell, I usually think my life's is a junk show. But not these folks. They know me, and know that just because I don't quite conform within the limits of everyday society, I shouldn't be written off. And I realized that this is what I was missing all along- people who were not so quick to judge. That's a rare quality amongst the general populace, and something that I will admit to being guilty of far more than I would like to be.

As more beers were consumed and late Saturday night turned into early Sunday morning, a woman in her mid twenties started to get upset and tell me how much of a junk show her own life was. Having called many of my freinds late at night in the same situation, I knew how to react, and got her to calm down and feel better about her not-so-terrible life. I reminded her that I was broke, sick, and had no idea about what I was doing with my life. She than looked right at me and simply said "You're a skier."

Awww, mama. Can this really be the end...

…To be stuck inside at Mt. Snow with the Whistler blues again?

Well folks, there’s no other way to put it- it’s really fucking cold today. -40 at the top of the mountain this morning. So instead of skiing, I have declared this as a national suckers’ day, and intend to spend the rest of my afternoon working on my beer dinking, pizza eating, and movie watching skills.

One week ago I was in Whistler, BC. I do believe that I may have just discovered heaven on earth. Some of the most amazing ski terrain I have ever seen, with a base village full of more beautiful women per square mile than anyplace outside of possibly Manhattan (but very few of those in Manhattan actually ski), and good sushi. And I hear the mountain biking is pretty good in the summer as well.

My trip to the Pacific Northwest was quite successful. With the massive snowfall the region has experienced this winter, I was able to ski plenty of powder. Of course having a few locals in the know to show me around certainly helped. I also managed to get some great footage and a really good interview for Normalcy. And I managed to avoid any injuries during the trip, something that had plagued my previous Western adventures.

But for now the PNW and its stashes of powder are but a memory. It’s back to a harsh New England winter (although after the warm early season, I’m not bitching), and East Coast hardpack (blue ice for those of you who consider skis with less than 95mm underfoot skinny). I nearly suffered frostbite on the 2 square inches of my face that weren’t exposed yesterday at Tremblant. Multiple layering is the key today.

Or I could just stay inside. After all, I do have a fridge full of beer, a pizza in the freezer, and the Director’s Cut of Miami Vice on DVD.

Kicking ass in the PNW

Well, what can I say, but the last three days have been amazing here in Washington. Saturday was a long day, beginning well before sunrise to Crystal Mountain, Washington, where I had the best lift served day of skiing I have ever had. With guide services provided by the Mullah himself (also known as Bruce or Buster), I made some sweet powder turns, and skied into the steepest line that I have ever dropped into. Of course I'm telling my mom that I stayed on the bunny slope, since I've had a few bad injuries in recent years.

After skiing Crystal and chowing down on some seafood enchiladas, we headed up to Glacier, WA, to get a jump on the way to Mt. Baker. We were given the tour of the Baker backcountry by brilliant ski photag Grant Gundersen. After a day of skiing pow, we had a few pints at the Tap Room, Baker's watering hole.

Monday was spent skiing with a very well known professional skier. I won't reveal their identity, lest I seem like some sort of name dropper. But I will say that hiking and skiing around the Mt. Baker backcountry, while trying to keep up with one of the best big mountain skiers in the world makes for one hell of an exhausting day. Courtney, if the Straightline Camp is as strenuous as these last few days I've had, I wouldn't worry one bit about missing any workouts.

Today was reserved for laundry and checking out record stores and restaurants in Seattle's Capitol Hill district. This is one hell of a cool city, despite the fact that nobody here seams to know how to drive in the snow. I heard that people were abandoning there cars on I-5 during the snowstorm last week. And I have seen a ton of people who look like extras from the movie "Singles". The grunge look is still going S
strong on the Puget Sound. Tomorrow I plan to ski again, and this weekend I'll be riding a mile of vert at Whistler/Blackcomb, BC. Trip report of sushi and Kokanee to follow.

The feeling

It had been nearly three years, but today I finally experienced it again: legitimate, bonafide, powder turns. At seven O’clock this morning, I was picked up by Jeff Dabe. I have not seen Jeff since 1994, when we were both exchange students in Norway. We headed north to Steven’s Pass.

As we drove deeper into the Cascades, my mind was blown away at the mountains. I don’t think I will ever cease to be amazed by the landscape of the American west. As we headed up the mountain, I was stoked to see deep piles of snow lining the road. I pulled out my camcorder and began recording some B-Roll for the doc.

Upon arrival at Stevens, I met up with Jim Craig, a fellow cancer survivor and the subject of today’s shoot. On the first chair, I explained to him the sometimes tedious procedure of video production. Plenty of times during the day, I would have to ski down ahead, set up my camera, shoot Jim skiing down, break down the camera setup and stuff it into my pack, and ski down to Jim again. Fortunately, Jim was a good sport about the whole thing. I’m sure having three young daughters at home does wonders for a man’s patience.

But the highlight of the day was when our fend Mike gave us a quick tour of the backcountry. A short traverse beyond the ski area boundary led us to some untracked, wide open, fresh snow. After shooting Jim ski through the bowl, I put my camera in my backpack, and pointed my boards down the fall line. I had not skied that kind of snow since 2004, but it only took a single turn for it to come back. The subtle finesse powder skiing requires, as opposed to the brute force often required to hold an edge on icy eastern runs.

We drove back into Seattle, still covered in a blanket of snow. I was exhausted, and my bad knee was acting up in the cramped confines of the back of a Jeep. But I had finally skied powder again. Nothing else mattered to me. Not cancer. Not the fact that I don’t have a house, a career, or a wife. Driving on I-5, I was thinking about all of the people I have met in my life, and how many of them are truly happy. How many people out there living the American Dream are actually living the American Nightmare? Killing themselves at a job they hate, for what? A bigger TV and leather seats for the car? Statistically, Americans work more and take fewer vacations than their counterparts in most industrialized nations. And is it any wonder why we’re so stressed out, drugged up on Prozac and Coor’s Light? Back in Vermont, I share a house with many successful youg people. You can, and maybe even should, refer to them as Yuppies. Sure, they might have it all, but what do the really have?

Good- but not great- news.

Well, last week I had another CT scan to see how the nodules in my lungs are doing, and today I got the results. When my oncologist came in to see me, he seemed pleased with the results he saw. Now, keep in mind that this is someone who routinely tells people that they have six months left to live, so his definition of good news might not quite be the same that the rest of us have.

Basically, he told me that since September, the lesions in my lungs have grown slightly larger, but not by much and at a very slow rate. He also said that I should now be eligible to participate in a clinical trial for a cancer vaccine. He thinks that the IL 2 treatents I underwent this summer slowed down the disease, and hopefully this vaccine will deliver the knockout punch.

So hopefully by the time I turn 32 I should have this motherfucker kicked in the balls and down for the count. I've had enough of this thing inconveniencing my life.

But fuck it, dude. Tomorrow I'll be in Seattle, and the PacNW has been getting hammerred with snow.

The waiting game.

In the early 70's, reggae legend Jimmy Clif wrote a song called "Sitting in Limbo" for the classic film "The Harder They Come." (Speaking of which, what ever happenned to the sequel- "The Harder They Fall", which Wyclef Jean was supposedly involved with?) Ever since my CT scan on thursday, I have been nervously awaiting the results, which I will recieve tomorrow. It is an extremely stressful situation, wondering what the tests will reveal. You spend a lot of time asking yourself questions, mainly, did the last treatment work? When the Interleukin II treatment didn't sucessfully send my cancer into remission, the storm clouds of doubt began to gather momentum in my head. It was a very difficult time to go through, and the light at the end of the tunnel began to fade away.

This, of course, is not the best attitude to have. But since every CT scan I have had since October 2005 has not exactly came back with great news, optimism is a hard mindset to achieve. Particulary when I have always been a sort of glass is half empty personality to begin with.

But at least I know one thing is for sure- no matter what I hear from my oncologist tomorrow, 7:45 Wednesday morning I will be on a flight to Seattle. For twlve days I will be in the Pacific Northwest, where, unlike Vermont, they have been getting absolutely pounded with snow. The Cascades and Coast Range of B.C. will give me either the ultimate reward or distraction- deep snow. Because once I'm at the top of a mountain, with over a foot of fresh snow beneath my skis, nothing else will matter.