Finding a Rhythm

In the world of trekking training (especially when it comes to high altitude and/or long-distance endeavors), one's training cycles often are described in terms of base, build, peak and taper.    According to Clyde Soles (author of my trekking training bible, "Climbing: Training for Peak Performance") the most arduous journeys require highly trained mental power, endurance, physical strength and technique.

Since Cliff and I are gathering data and trying now to understand how the rhythm of the unexpected journey corresponds to our trekking experiences, I've been thinking a lot about how these training cycles may fit inside a sustained unexpected journey in progress.

For sure, we hit the trail at an unusually strong base level of training, given we just completed 200 miles of hiking Offa's Dyke.  But weirdly, from that base, we quickly are finding ourselves in a do-loop of build/peak, build/peak, build/peak.  Base was base and taper won't happen (we're already on the move); however, every two-week cycle on the path presents us with multiple opportunities to train our build/peak phases.   

And my critical learning so far makes clear that all the build/peak can't happen in Week Two (when I'm feeling my best).  I have to engage in intentional Week One (when I'm feeling my worst) training that contributes to my build and supports my peak phases.

Cliff and I know from years of training that no matter the challenge, we never get a chance to go back and get any training we blew off -- once packs are hoisted, and boots hit the path (or once the starting pistol sounds) we've got what we worked for, nothing more.  Any notion of excepting Week One from in-progress training ignores our "doer" approach, gritty dispositions and growth mindset.  We both show up every day (yep, every single day) ready to do the work.  We don't expect easy achievement or accolades.  We know results come from engagement, determination and perseverance.  And we recognize (especially for the long haul) we must remain present and aware; continually and honestly assess our endurance, mental power, physical strength and technique; and be prepared to adjust our training plan with grace and humility  -- and without surrendering the opportunities well within our reach.

Experience has taught us this flexible approach of seeing opportunity in adversity can deliver some pretty incredible gifts:

• In Nepal, when fires blocked our planned path and we diverted our trek to cross along the shores of the Gosainkund, we explored (all to ourselves) the magic of the high-altitude sacred lake;
• On Wainwright's Coast-to-Coast across England, on a day when winds drove us off the cliffs, and we discovered the beauty and calm of the valley below;
• Along The Pennine Way when 18 days of rain convinced us to walk a marathon in sodden boots on our last trail day, we were rewarded with an extra day to relax, dry out and explore at the end of the walk; and,
• In Tibet, where glacial ice shrouded our planned high-pass crossing to Lhasa, we shifted our passage to an uncharted, less-traveled Himalayan cleft that allowed interaction with Tibetan herders and high-mountain dwellers that otherwise might never have been possible.

So in Week One, I am using a like-minded approach to discover opportunity and fuel a continuous build cycle with a clearheaded vision of what the week can be, what I am experiencing and grace-filled flexibility to make adjustments assured that my choices will deliver some pretty darned impressive training (on the move) results.   And here's how it's working out so far:

• Week One build is about working on my mental power: Recognizing my anxiety around Week One (my first Week One experience was a little worse than I expected), I employed the support of a certified medical hypnotherapist to help me adjust my thinking from how I don't want to feel in Week One: sick; to how I want to feel in Week One:  Strong, confident. grateful, aware, curious.  And while days two, three and four were still tough last week, I was able to tap into my powerful sub-conscious messages to power through without fear or apprehension.

• Week One build also means fueling for endurance and hanging on to every ounce of body weight I can.  I'm eating healthfully, whether I feel hungry or not.  We're discovering what appeals and keeping it on hand: Who knew creamed spinach and baked potatoes could taste so darned good?  And this cycle, I lost half the weight I did in Week One, Cycle One. 

• Week One build says I'll work faster toward each peak cycle's strength development  goals by moving, dancing and walking as soon as I can after chemotherapy.  This cycle, as last, I lost only two days of activity (Wed/Thurs).  By Friday, I was out and walking; and yesterday I logged 1.5 miles.  So yes, I'll get in my Peloton sessions and at least one long hike before next cycle.  And last night, on the occasion of my 60th birthday, I danced to two long-play versions of Stevie Wonder's 1980 tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King: "Happy Birthday."

• Week One build also benefits when I stay tuned to technique -- and for this I'm occupying my mind with joyful diversions that keep me goal focused (Via Francigena, 2020) without sacrificing the unique opportunity of slower-paced days.  I'm reading, writing, becoming reacquainted with hand-quilting, connecting with friends and family, reviewing and refining home project plans, mastering healthy super-soup recipes and, most recently, learning how to tie head scarves (yep, this week my hair signaled it wouldn't be "hanging around" much longer).

So truly, despite having experienced only two treatment cycles,  I feel our rhythm is emerging.  While I know (especially being married to an applied mathematician) that two data points don't indicate a trend, I also know: This is it.  I won't get to go back and train for this one (we were moving before the starting pistol ever sounded).  With awareness, presence and purpose, I understand I can (and must) continue to train en route on this unexpected journey.  And I'm showing up -- to train, to work, to win.  Every. Single. Day.

Quote of the Day:

Nothing will work unless you do.

                                      ~Maya Angelou

Celebrating 60 in flowers!  Thank you Skip and Lois, Cliff, and the incredible Hunt Valley Crew (Jason and team)

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

Dancing Uphill

Throughout my trekking life, my modus operandi for the uphills has been to assess the elevation change, take a deep breath, smile, put on my headphones (for a little uphill motivation), and move forward, one step at a time.  Yep, music always has been a consistent secret sauce in my perseverance: I've danced up mountains in Africa, Bhutan and Europe.  I've jigged across paths in New Zealand and Scotland.  I've bounced up the inverted slope of the Rim-to-Rim of the Grand Canyon (along with my headphone-wearin' pal, Chip).  So is it any wonder that I danced for 35 minutes before heading into Week 1/Cycle 2 of my chemo treatment yesterday?  It was my powerful soundtrack for this leg of the Unexpected Journey (the first week of a treatment cycle feels a little uphill to me).

My dancing yesterday was joyous, invigorating, fun and empowering.  And I've no doubt that it motivated me across what turned out to be a rather long treatment day.  Cliff and I know from my  oncologist that we are trekking a difficult path, with no quick promise of success.  And we are experts in perseverance.  We can stay on this path (one step at a time) by marshaling our fitness, confidence, determination, teamwork and experience.  And we can always add a little secret (musical) sauce for good measure 🎶 . . .

So, it was with my partner, a smile, a song in my heart, shoulders back and head up that I walked back into the cancer center yesterday.  And I emerged (after 5.5 hours, including time for blood tests and doctor's appointment) with a smile, a song in my heart, shoulders back, head up -- and hungry!  Yay!  We stopped on our way home at an Indian take-out that we know has stomach soothing, cancer-fighting menu offerings. Delicious!

Progress Report:

This cycle (2) my doctor added a new targeted chemo-therapy treatment (Avastin) based on information gleaned from molecular analysis (of my blood and tumor tissue).  This targeted treatment, and the overall approach, is relatively new in treating cancer (lucky timing again, right?).  The analysis enables my oncologist to see cancer cell mutations, and to understand what that means in terms of identifying and on-boarding treatments that best can target those mutations.  In the not too distant past, treatment feedback was based on progress/success observed over a period of treatment -- potentially wasting valuable effective treatment time.   

Adding Avastin added 90 minutes to yesterday's treatment.  I still have the chemo suite pre-treatment platform (thirty minutes of anti-nausea IVs and steroids), then my two hours of oxaliplatin and leucovorin and of course Fluorouracil (my 48-hour take-home pump, which Cliff and I have nicknamed Super-Thor).  It's a bit daunting -- and having said that we'd walk through fire to kick this cancer, it's oh-so doable.

I expect I'll be (blog) quiet as we proceed through this week.  I'm taking forward all of my learning from Week 1/Cycle 1 and looking toward to an easier Week 1/Cycle2 (although Avastin is a bit of a wild card).  Already, I managed last night without any additional anti-nausea medication and walked 1/2 a mile post-treatment.  Definitely light and cold sensitivities are high this morning -- but nothing an extra layer and/or sunglasses can't address.  My goal continues to be to do what I can every day, and then do more the next day.  (Last cycle that meant I got in a four-mile walk and two, one-hour Peloton workouts toward the end of the two weeks.)

Quote of the day:

Life is not easy for any of us.  But what of that?  We must have perseverance and above all confidence in ourselves.  We must believe that we are gifted for something, and that this thing must be attained.

                                                                                                     ~ Marie Curie 

And as with the dancing, so does the fresh flowers (act of appreciation) ritual continue.  

For the historical record: So far, my hair is Hangin' in There

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

Because I'm Happy . . .

(Day 47 since my diagnosis)

O.K., so today's title may be somewhat surprising -- but I've said from the beginning that I only can be where I am in this process, and that is in the present.  And today, I'm happy!  Actually, for the past seven days. I've been progressively more happy each day, as I've felt better, stronger, and greater energy with every passing day.  And that progress is reason to be darned happy.

Sure, lots of things have changed in the past six weeks or so, and I'm adapting. 

• I'm living a wine-free life -- and not even whining about it!
• I cleared my closet of my winter uniform of skinny jeans (for this season) -- despite my struggle gain weight, those waist bands don't agree with my finicky cancer gut.
• I'm hiding out from our glorious Santa Fe sunshine like a vampire (ugh -- chemo-induced photo-sensitivity).

Check out how small and manageable these changes are (and sure there are others -- some less light -- still, I'm finding them all manageable).

My first thought upon waking most mornings remains: "I love my life!"  Sure, thoughts of the disease bubble up -- but they follow thoughts of our home projects (on course), my dogs (so in my face at 5:00 a.m.) and my gratitude for my TeamBoltz life partner (together for 40 years this month -- married for 37+).  Note: These thoughts are not necessarily listed in order of frequency or occurrence.

I continue to dance.  Every. Single. Day.  And I dance to happy music.  Over the last week I've danced to:

• Electric Boogie (doing the electric slide, of course)
• Free Beer Polka (seriously, with my sister and brother-in-law)
• The Best Day of My Life (kind of says it all, I think)
• I'll Be There For You (after all, this month marks the 25th anniversary of the hit show, "Friends")
• Happy (Thank you, Pharrell Williams -- also taggd for today's blog title)
• Budapest (pop-rock -- oh so fun)
• Call Me Maybe (Remember when this song was EVERYWHERE?)
• Wanna Dance With Somebody (O.K, I hope by now you all are dancing with me)

My flower ritual continues:

This week's flowers

I keep moving.  I walked 3.2 miles yesterday and plan to walk 4 miles before Tuesday's chemo -- and today, I'm on the Peloton!

60 minutes (with arm work)

In short, I'm living my life (we heard you Dr. Rixe).  I'm living my life in perspective, present and grateful.  And yes, today, I'm happy!

Progress: Since today's blog really was a progress report, there's not much to add.  I'm relieved and encouraged by my resilience in (chemo) cycle one.  Cycle two starts on 24 September . . .

Quote of the Day:

And when you get the chance to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance.

                                                                              ~ Lee Ann Womack 

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

The Conditioning Effect

When one lands on a path mid-stride -- without the rich pleasure of researching journey destinations, travel modes and route variations -- the unknowns loom large. Each new sight and sound seems a curiosity without context or relative experience to frame understanding:  Is this supposed to be a landmark? Was that my turn? Am I approaching the sight line? Is this the best place to rest/take refuge from the weather/make my summit approach?

The unknown and unknowable peek round corners and shimmer along horizons.  And while they tease our sensibilities, what we do know is that on every journey (this one included) we can expect and rely upon the inevitable benefits of what we call the conditioning effect.  The conditioning effect is a welcome phenomena we experience, no matter our pre-trek research, planning and training.  It is the reward of the road that makes us stronger and more able every day.  It takes our peak physical training status and toughens it.  It makes real the waymarks on a GPS or map and aids navigation.  It instills confidence by transforming our research narrative into real people and actual terrain.  

The conditioning effect is (as much mentally and emotionally as it is) physically strengthening. It comes from the cumulative experience and exertion of crossing long distances across varied terrain — and gently reminds us that no matter how thorough our preparation, it is the progress that makes us more able and resilient. It is the people sharing the path who enhance our experience and broaden our perspective. It is the business of being underway that teaches us best how to proceed. And even the unexpected journey, which feels at times all surprise and mystery, delivers the benefit of the conditioning effect — an en route bonus that says, “You’ll not only get there, you’ll arrive in even better shape, with deeper understanding and greater appreciation for your own determination and the goodness of humankind.”  Being aware of this effect helps us to recognize the gains (and yes, there are some) -- and how best to consolidate them going forward (through treatment and beyond) to increase our power and strength one step, one day at a time.

This week -- Week Two, Cycle One, is the perfect week to reflect upon and consolidate our conditioning before we head into Cycle Two, and the next round of chemo, next week.  Our conditioning so far has given us invaluable feedback and knowledge regarding:

• How to adjust our pace and temper our expectations -- especially around chemotherapy side effects and how best to manage them as we continue on this path. 

• Ways to strengthen our physical and emotional muscles. We’re tired and sore at the end of a tough day, but know from experience we’ll be revived and ready to trek on in the morning.

• Techniques to calm the chaos, hone our powers of observation, and increase our awareness of all that is external to our being. I think there’s a choice of expanding or shrinking one’s world when confronted with a cancer diagnosis -- I prefer to reach into expansive space.

• Ways to identify and welcome new vistas that (and guides who) appear only once the journey begins. How great to live in a city so rich in healing support, from my amazing medical team to the insightful and gracious mindfulness community promoting self care.

• How (gratefully and with great humility) to accept the prayers, kindness and best energy of friends and family. Special thanks to: Malissa (one of the busiest professionals I know) who gave me a full day of care and support -- filling the gap between Cliff’s departure and my sister’s arrival; Jeanne’, who cooked an Italian dinner that filled the tummy and soul (the most I’ve eaten since our feet hit this path); My sister and her husband whose presence in the first (and toughest) week of chemo Cycle One, allowed Cliff to visit his mom in PA.

This rich trail data informs, confirms, reassures and comforts us along the way -- and comprises our gains, which we are consolidating for strength and power as the journey unfolds.  

Progress: Chemo leg one started out with a couple of easy days (treatment day (9 Sep) and the following day were deceptively kind). And, as the oncology nurse projected, Day Four (12 Sep) was a rough ride. With Cliff out of town visiting his mom, my darling sister held my hand, urged me to eat through the nausea, and helped me through the worst of it all. By the weekend I was bouncing back. Cliff’s midnight (Saturday) return seemed to jettison the vestiges of treatment discomfort, and by Sunday my appetite was back. The goal this week is to gain some weight (chemo leg one wiped out the marginal gain I’d managed post surgery) and to work on my strength. I’m walking again (for the past four days). And I’m dancing (Every. Single. Day.).  Our laundry and pantry projects have begun and Cliff and I are cooking together as a process of discovering what’s palatable and nourishing through a fourteen-day cycle. 

So this is a week to rest, recover, restore and regenerate before the inevitable repeat, which begins with Cycle Two on 24 September.  We know for sure that putting life on hold for six months to kick cancer is simply a non-starter. Whatever else this is, it also is an opportunity to learn and grow.  The unexpected journey is a hail and hardy teacher, and we are engaged learners -- in for the long haul!

Quote of the Day:

Just do it!  ~Nike Ad Campaign (enduring since 1987)

Illy Resting, Restoring and Regenerating

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

Orienting the Map

It's not been unusual, really, on any long-distance trek, for Cliff and me to have reason to pause and orient our map, adjust our bearings and confirm the way ahead.  I recall such a time when a clearly defined trail blended seamlessly with an animal path (yak trail in Nepal).  Or the many times a trail blaze (in the Rockies) or finger post (in the UK) was unclear or confusing.  And of course there's the case of  crazy weather obscuring the terrain and muddling GPS reception (ah, Scotland).  In any case, at some point in each of these instances, we became aware of our misdirection, paused, oriented our map to the terrain and rejoined our route -- easily finding our way back to our natural, fluid trail rhythm.

On this unexpected journey, too, we are becoming aware there will be opportunities for distraction, misdirection and occlusion.  And a little pause and orienting of the map can help us to true our course and regain our trekker's groove.

On Monday morning, before heading into my first chemo treatment, we were unaware of a gentle misdirect (in the form of overthinking) that was making us hyper-sensitive to the changing terrain -- and, as a result, pulling us mildly off course.  Having gone through chemo education, read all the proffered side-effect materials and listened to the wise counsel of those previously having trodden a similar (but all together different) path, Cliff and I combined our keen (and much-beloved) planning skills into the creation of a chart meant to double and triple check my chemo treatment experience.  We were looking toward sensitive change -- almost to the point of distraction (if you don't get your head out of that map or your eyes off the GPS, you will most certainly miss the truth of the journey).

Dr. Rixe responded to our chart monitoring plan with a soft and kind smile.  He shook his head and gave us the best trail advice ever (whatever the journey): "Live your life."  His words had an immediate re-framing effect for me.  In that instant I knew that in living with awareness (presence and purpose), I would see the yak prints and realize we were on a different trail without overly-anticipating a stinking pile of poo.  I also knew that I would notice a recurring landmark on a path and recognize a trekker's loop without keeping my eyes peeled for the error.  And yes, when things got so foggy and indecipherable, my trekker mind would say: "Slow down, orient the map, live fully into the day and opportunity."  So simple, and all at once so liberating.

It was a zoom back to the present -- and a reason I always remind friends (and former clients) that mindfulness is a practice.  It's not a perfect.  And back in the present, I became aware of all the best of the trail (not laser focused on changes in my physical manifestation, but opening myself to the whole experience on the path):

The re-framing effect was immediate and I flew through my three-plus hours in the chemo suite on Monday without a single issue.  Were things changing in my body?  Maybe, but not enough to register without the most sensitive of measuring devices.  Orienting the map to my present awareness, what I didn't miss along the way buoyed my spirit and expanded my space:

• The volunteers in the chemo suite were particularly warm and kind (both cancer survivors).
• My chemo nurse was skilled, calm and compassionate.
• The massage therapist (who somewhat magically appeared) was gentle, authentic and selfless.
• My chair before the window was a warm spot with a great view of the sidewalk (and activity) outside (on a crystalline Santa Fe day).
• My kind and attentive hubby blanketed me in love and kindness with a look and a gentle hand hold (walking right beside me, not cuing on the the most subtle, but opening to the whole experience and regaining our easy natural rhythm).
• And then your texts flooded in -- thank you for the well wishes and messages of support!

The bottom line is we have a tried and true approach to living our whole lives.  We open to opportunity -- learning every day.  We hear our coulds and turn them into cans -- living life without regrets.  And the big breakthrough (could-to-can) of chemo cycle one, day one?  We agreed that completing this unexpected journey will call for an EPIC celebration:  And so, we will take on the entire Via Francigena in one fell swoop.  A twelve-hundred mile celebration of life.  It will be our longest trek yet -- and for sure, we'll pause to orient our maps more than once along the way.  We'll take into the Via Francigena, all of the experiences of our past treks -- to include this one.  We will live our lives -- aware, curious and grateful.  Because we can.

Progress:  End of leg one, chemo.  While we'll let the process ride out for the full two-week cycle.  I'm doing ok.  Dealing with some nausea and queasiness, feel muscle sore all over, dull headache.  The drugs are clearly having some effect -- and doing their job.  My job is to eat, move, stay hydrated and smile -- and I'm all in.


Quote of the day:

A journey is like marriage.  The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.

                                                                                          ~ John Steinbeck

The much anticipated photo from the trail -- heading into the cancer center to have Super Thor (my take-home treatment) disconnected -- the official end of leg one, chemo

VIA FRANCIGENA!

Gearing Up

Day 34 -- Tomorrow is five weeks since my cancer diagnosis -- and my first day of chemo.

*********************************

If you've read blogs of TeamBoltz' past journeys, you know I always write a gear blog.  The gear blog details what we'll carry and/or wear that we consider essential to journey success. 

To be sure, selecting our journey gear is a process we've got down to a real science:  In the weeks before we take our first step on any major trek/tramp/hike/walk, we develop our gear lists.  We compare gear lists. We grow piles of gear along the walls of our master bedroom.  We confer on our gear decisions; which almost always results in some pairing down of what makes it from the pile to the pack. 

Gear prep keeps us organized.  Have we planned for contingencies smartly?  How many pairs of socks?  How many Cliff Bars?  Wet weather gear?  Cold weather gear?  Who is carrying what of our "community gear"?  Do we have all we need without including extraneous stuff that never gets used or worn . . . because who wants to carry extra as the miles add up?  Only when we've checked and double-checked our gear as a team are zippers zipped and straps cinched.

The right gear (along with the right training) gives us confidence for a successful journey.  There's a spirited feeling of team-assurance, and a healthy charge of "let's go" when we grab our carefully curated packs of gear and head out the door.  

So, is it any wonder we've been gearing up for the unexpected journey as well?  I think not!

Take for example, packing gear for what we'll call the journey's "chemo legs" (described below):

• The start (Day One) of every cycle (12 cycles are scheduled) includes blood tests, a meeting with my oncologist, my treatment (3 hours) in the "chemo suite," and the attachment of a chemo pump (which I'll wear home). 
• On Day Three of each cycle, I'll return to the center to have the pump removed.  
• Every two weeks, we'll repeat this leg (almost certainly with some as yet unknown changes in direction or duration or exertion despite the mostly common terrain -- but hey, that's the nature of journeys, right?).

What do we need for these legs? 

• For Sustenance: Yesterday, my darling husband baked healthy "anytime bars" (a recipe from the Cancer Kitchen Cookbook --  thank you, Suby!), to include in my chemo kit bag.  
• For passing the time: Electronics (Kindle (for me), iPad (for Cliff) with device chargers (yes, they have wi-fi) and a good (non-eletronic) read (The Salt Path is in the bag, thank you Marianne!).  
• For hydration: Water bottles (pre-filled).
• For comfort: A warm blanket (thanks Murray Group!), an amazingly soft and beautiful shawl (so grateful, Marj!).
• For good-vibe healing: Larimar bracelet (thanks, Chip), crystal charm (thanks Cal and Mel), and everyone's love and well wishes.

Next is the matter of my trekking uniform: It has to be comfortable but never sloppy. I am determined to show up for every appointment and treatment looking poised and put together -- not to mention FIERCE!  No doubt this determination to keep it together on the outside stems from growing up one of Julia Garrett's daughters.  When my sister and I didn't feel well as kids, our mom pushed us to get up, get showered and get dressed.  Mom knew that our physical presence and confidence had a central role in coaching our emotional being.  For sure, Mom got the mind-body connection before mind-body was cool. 

And yes, because I know it's damned hard to feel sad when you're smiling -- or to lack confidence when you strike a power pose -- tomorrow morning I'll grab my gear bag, head for the door (wearing a smartly-coordinated outfit, of course) and step on the path of my first chemo leg with a smile on my face, head up and shoulders back.  I am moving with intention -- present and purposeful.  I'm a soldier.  I'm a trekker.  Together Cliff and I have that same assurance, determination and motivation that permeate all our journeys.  This is a big trek -- with maybe the highest stakes of all -- and you can be sure, we got this.  One step, one day at a time -- with all the right stuff!

 Quote of the day:

Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes, your smile can be the source of your joy.
                                                          ~Thich Nhat Hanh

The Essential Gear (Cliff's homemade Anytime Bars in purple plastic-ware -- thank you babe!)

Via Francigena, 2020!

Everyday I'm Shufflin'

You may or may not recognize the title of today's blog as the opening (and much repeated refrain) from LMFAO's 2011, worldwide chart-topping, techno-pop, hit single, "Party Rock Anthem."  The refrain kinda-sorta sums up where I am today: Shufflin' -- as in, "made famous by the Party Rock Anthem video running-man dance move," -- with some solid energy and joy, and leaning into forward movement.  (Beware the link -- another super fun tune riding in on a fierce ear worm!)

Now, four weeks post surgery, I am ready to get busy with chemo -- clobbering the heck out of the cancer that remains in my body.  And while chemo is a part of that -- starts next week -- Cliff and I are using this "stay in motion" shuffle period to refine our work on all the pieces around the nucleus of the medical approach:

• Nutrition: Preparing (together) and consuming (me) five nutritious mini-meals a day.  The weight gain thing really hasn't happened -- challenged in part by multiple pre-test fasting experiences and further by cutting out sugars for the most part (includes many carbs on the with a high glycemic index, and (of course) wine).
• Exercise: Staying active by walking (about four miles most days), dancing and this week, getting back on my Peloton (on non-walking days) for hour-long workouts.  Physical motion continues to be my place of happiness!!
• Managing stress: When something is niggling at my mind, I have two practices (that anyone can choose at anytime), which I am finding tremendously helpful:
• First (thank you Toni), when stress is looming, I practice directing my observations outward -- to nature and my sensory surroundings.  This routinely takes me away from drilling inward and getting spooled in all the emotions that ride side-saddle with stress.  Using this approach, I can observe my emotions without judgement.  I reminds me I am not my emotions.  It breaks the stress cycle.  Breathe . . . 
• Second, I take action, rather than ruminate.  I use my own preference for can, will, do (versus could, should, would) and face down the stressors head on.  The longer stress lingers, the more I am allowing it to feed on the energy I prefer to use for this fight.  I know I have a choice here -- and I actively am stepping into self-care.
• Calming the mind:  I read.  I write. I meditate. 
• Visualization.  Just as I did for many a challenge in years past, I now am visualizing this journey in big and little ways.  I use the greater trekking analogy (THE BIG) to summon strength, determination, endurance, commitment and my unquestionable belief in my ability to summit.   And every night I deploy highly-detailed visualizations (THE LITTLE, but no less STRONG) of the cancer-fighting potential in my own body (imagine tiny soldiers uniformed and equipped for the fight).  In every scenario, these warriors emerge triumphant.

So, yeah, for now, I'm shufflin' -- I keep moving and my energy remains high.  I still don't describe cancer as "being sick."  I don't feel sick. (It's a thing -- no more me than those emotions).  In talking to a friend today, I spontaneously described my cancer as occupying maybe two-percent of my physical presence.

In fact, I feel quite well.  And I sometimes wonder: What would be the effect of not knowing at all?  Would I still be marathon training?  Maybe.

My fabulous (seriously, I have reason to appreciate him more each day) oncologist reviewed some nutrition, activity and energy/mindfulness strategies with Cliff and me last week.  And in conclusion he said:  Listen to your body.  In terms of activity, do what you can, and if that works, do a little more the next day (music to my ears).  Eat nutritiously -- taking a smart and measured approach.  Align energy to support the fight.  Maintain balance.

Progress:

This afternoon, my port will be implanted in preparation for chemo.  It will ride right there under my collar bone along with my fabulous Yin and Yang tattoo (a part of me for nearly twenty years now).  What better reminder than to see the two reflected back at me in the mirror: recalling Dr. Rixe's "balance" rejoinder, reminding me that my whole is greater than any one part (especially only 2%), and refreshing (again and again) my knowing that light is, because darkness is  --  (No Mud, No Lotus  ~Thich Nhat Hanh).

Quote of the day:

Life is like riding a bicycle.  To keep your balance, you must keep moving. 

                                                                                   ~Albert Einstein

Balance in Motion -- Becoming an IronMan in 2009

VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!

Dancing in the Moonlight

"Hey," came a nudge from the other side of the bed last night.  "Hey, we didn't dance today."

My darling hubby was quite right -- and reminding me to honor my ritual of dancing: Every. Single. Day.

Still, I was tired.  We both were processing the information from a week of doctor's appointments.  We had walked 3.6 miles in the morning (my first complete turn (since getting out of the hospital) around our up-and-down-filled training loop, which we've run ruts into preparing for multiple long-distance treks).  We had two amazing love-filled interactions with close friends (Thank you, Bill and Jeannine; and Chip, Reis, Kenny and Paola).  I had just finished a fun and uplifting book.  It was late.  How committed was I to this ritual of mine anyway?

But, Cliff was right.  We hadn't danced today -- and the day was coming to an end.  This was no good.  

From his side of the bed, a sudden, electronic glow illuminated the ceiling.  Cliff was trolling Sonos for dance music . . ..  Then, amid the strains of some pop-rock song unrecognizable to me, he simultaneously was turning on his bed-side lamp and getting to his feet with a little head bop (I swear). 

The music grew louder.  It definitely had a strong dance beat.

"What is this song?" I giggled, joining him mid-swing.

"My Life Would Suck Without You," came his snickered reply.

"What? How do you even KNOW this song?

"I don't," he assured me, "But I love the title!"

So we shuffled, twisted -- and yes, even leapt -- to Kelly Clarkson's song from a decade past.  I had a funny mental picture of an audience of voyeuristic coyotes and owls trying to make sense of the crazy shadows hopping about our bedroom windows.  Oh the fun! 

And as the song ended and we crawled back into bed, here's what I knew for sure:  It was joyous.  It was happy.  It was a reminder of the power of TeamBoltz:  When one is tired, the other picks up the slack to recharge the team.  When one is down, the other has a smile, or a touch, or a word of encouragement that lifts the team.  TeamBoltz takes two.  

So yep, ♫ "We belong together now (yeah); Forever united here somehow (yeah)"  ♫ (Warning: Link at your own risk -- this song floats on a very strong ear-worm!)

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When I awoke this morning I was full of energy and good thoughts.  For breakfast, Cliff fixed me avocado toast with an egg on top.  We walked 4.2 miles today!  We delighted in the spontaneous flight of the lesser-goldfinches as they lifted from their feast among the late-summer wildflowers when we passed.  We enjoyed the company of the ever-fluid and athletic Illy on the loop.  And we collected Munro for the "mailbox" run -- about as far as his stubby little legs will carry that puff-coated body once the sun crests the Sangres.  What a wonderful new day!

Progress update:

A week of more tests (PET scan & another MRI) and doctor's appointments (a new primary care manager, and again with my oncologist, Dr. Rixe). The news this week was a little tougher.  My cancer, in its current state, is not operable.  I have multiple lesions on my liver and more lymph node infiltration than previously thought.  But, there's still good news: my peritoneum and lungs remain clear.  So the treatment plan will follow what Dr. Rixe previously described as the longer, tougher route: Six months of chemo therapy -- still slated to begin on 9 September -- and further consideration of local options (surgery, ablation, ultrasound, etc.) to remove any remaining cancer as we go forward.  So, maybe we won't have all the cancer out of my body by Christmas, 2019, but there's still plenty of 2020 left for the Via Francigena!

Quote of the Day:

When you dance, your purpose is not to get to a certain place on the floor.  It is to enjoy each step along the way.

                                                                                          ~ Wayne Dyer

Celebrating forty (plus) years of friendship when Chip and Reis visited yesterday

 😊VIA FRANCIGENA, 2020!😊