Cancer Skin Graft, Walking, Writing

Graft Dodger. Not really, but I liked the sound of it. My stitches stay for another week and I need to keep the nose moistened to facilitate healing. A year shall pass, said the dermatologist, before my old honker appears normal. (If it ever did.)

Walked 52 minutes this morning, speeding up at times to a brisk pace. My plan is to gradually acclimate to faster foot turn-over so my transition to running will be seamless. Walking for almost an hour 3x a week, I have to say the knee has held up well. Alas, my weight ballooned again so, with no swimming for three more weeks, I've got to eat less and get into the gym more. I feel like I've said the same thing over and over for the last 18 months.

Several potential writing projects, lean with promise, seem to have dwindled away, joining the ghosts of many others over the last decade. Perhaps there is a Project's Graveyard, similar to the Elephant's Graveyard only without big, round tombstones. One can only speculate.

Johnny Black Nose

Skin graft has turned blacker than a collie's snout, making it appear I feel asleep on a barbecue grill. Itches too. The divot behind my ear was leaking but appears to have stemmed. Tomorrow I get the stitches out. Yeah. Walked early on Tuesday, logging 52 minutes at a moderate pace. Last week, I lost momentum with pitch meetings and surgery. For the next three weeks I'll focus on establishing consistent work-outs 3x a week. On week four, the focus will shift to walking faster. (I may incorporate a session at a local high school track.) The goal will be to eventually walk 3 miles in 39 minutes - 13 minutes a mile. Afterwards, I'll look into slowly running the distance. But everything depends on the knee. Any soreness or pain, and I stop. And I can do all that regardless of nose color. Though I prefer it wasn't puppy black.

Cheruiyots of Fire

Speaking of running, the 114th Boston Marathon wrapped up with Kenyan (really?) Robert Cheruiyot finishing in a course record 2 hours, 5 minutes, and 52 seconds. Americans Ryan Hall and Meb Keflezighi ran 4th and 5th. Woman's champ Teyba Erkesso edged a Russki dame to finish in 2:26:11. Top Yank Female was Paige Higgins, finishing in 13th place.

Congrats to all who trained, qualified and ran. Huzzah to you, I say.

UPDATE: Biggest cause of marathon injuries: Bad Gatorade? Cheerleader mayhem? CNN has the big surprise.

The Price of Commitment

For over five years I studied t'ai chi. I learned the Yang Family long form, short form, fast set, push hands; attended t'ai chi camps and workshops; assisted the instructor, read books, bought videos, checked out websites and practiced persistently. But there came a time when I was faced with moving up or moving on. To move up would have required me to drive cross-town in rush hour traffic twice a week and study at the main guy's school. I would need to make a big financial commitment as well as up my practice time. This decision came just as I began running again, mentally committing myself to finishing a marathon after years of false starts. So I moved on, ran, and eventually joined Team in Training, completing 5 marathons. And while I still practice t'ai chi, I have decided the level I'm at is the last level I'll reach. Which brings me back to running. Every setback is a time to examine commitment. Do you renew or fold? This cancer business on top of last year's knee operation, illness, learning to chi walk, tendinitis, anemia and all the hurdles I've faced since September 2008, including misdiagnoses from a hack doctor, have made 'fold' seem not only realistic, but the smart play.

• Any outdoor exercise must now be tempered by the knowledge that I'm very skin cancer prone. So its cover-up exposed skin and train in the early morning or evening. (Or retire to the state of Washington.)
• I'm pushing 60 and have sustained a fair amount of damage over the decades from a severe leg wound to broken bones to sprains and torn muscles.
• Odds are that I'll never again equal where I was physically in 2008. That means I'll probably never qualify for Boston or run Heartbreak Hill.
• Maybe the point of all these set-backs is not to press on, but to quit before something worse happens.

I'm caught in limbo, unable to sustain a training program that will get me running again and unable to move on. I wish I could let running go and take up cycling or Candyland. I'll be like Chuck Liddell, the Ice Man, who could've eased into training fighters after the Rampage Jackson beat-down, but returned to the octagon, losing four of his next five fights, one of them a knock-out. That's not a graceful exit. But that's how I'll leave running. Painful as it is to keep starting over, I'm going to need another series or two of smack-downs to prove I'm finished. And I may not believe it even then. 'Cause if I'm not moving on, I'm moving up. Moving on up. Moving on up to the Eastside, to a de-luxe apartment in the sky. From now on, I'll run a dry cleaners. Wait. Skip that part. Run again soon, I'm believing.

Keeper's America

Employing a giant map, Keeper sings "Wakko's America."

On the Nose with Basel Squamous

A shout-out to family and friends who checked in yesterday. All the prayers and little bits of encouragement helped in many ways as I look forward to getting the bandage off today and appearing only mildly deformed to the general public.

Between the wound draining and a big nose bandage, I slept poorly last night. Today, Ernesto drove me to the doctor's for yet another blood test, this one concerning anemia. I thanked my doc for catching the cancer. I'm like a medical windfall to him; every week, something new from tendinitis to anemia to cancer. Perhaps my story will make the New England Journal of Medicine as the Amazing Often-Sick California Man. (Then I can claim it as a publishing credit.)

"Take That Hook Out."

One of the many charming medical phrases I heard during outpatient surgery today. ("Blot" was another.) The cancer was more aggressive, deeper and wider than expected. They had to go in twice to cut everything out, then do a skin graft to cover the wound. Luckily, the cancer didn't migrate into the cartilage or I'd be Mr. Odd Nose. (Clever remarks notwithstanding.) Or worse. Anyway, my wife hung out while the doctors did their medical chores, then drove us home. Blood keeps draining into my mouth, making everything taste like I'm eating at the craft service table on Dawn of the Dead. But I'll take such minor discomforts. In the world of cancer, I skated big time.