Many too many play the “why me” card when it comes to things like cancer
They take the easy route and give in to the disease and all of the evil that goes with it
Many too many focus on what they don’t have and how much they hurt
They worry in vain about the hair or weight that they’ve lost
Many too many are anchors in their own healing process
And have no idea how much control they really have

Too few are those like you who can mentally, spiritually, and emotionally rise above it
They have the gift of being able to sift through the dirt until they find that ray of hope
Too few are those like you who can let that ray of hope guide them 
They lead by example and spread their message of hope and possibility for all to see
Too few are those like you with the courage to allow themselves to be truly seen
They may have patches of physical weakness but never do they really feel beaten

Just know that although this war may seem long, you are winning
Just understand that the team in your fox hole is larger than your wildest dreams
Just realize that you are helping countless people in their own struggles just by being
Just believe that this will soon be a speed bump in your rear view mirror
Just keep the perspective and the faith 
Just use this as a chance to continue to make a difference in this world

First, I reminded them that I am living proof that in spite of doing all of the right things; in spite of eating right, exercising, and always trying to make the right choices; crap happens. And when it does, the first choice you have is to make is whether to sit on the couch and feel sorry for yourself, asking all of the “why me” questions….. or address the problem and move on.

Point number two… treatment can work. For all of the terrible stories you hear of death and loss, there are even more examples of survivorship. I drove the point home that we are winning this war and that all of the research and advancements that have been made in cancer research is working. My doctor called me a “responder” early on in my treatment because I reacted so well to what many people refer to as poison – chemotherapy.

And lastly, I reminded them that they were there to play a sport that they loved. And the beauty of the weekend was that they were able to play a game, while raising huge dollars for a very worthy blood cancer cause. I pleaded with them to never lose track of that concept. I told them that they had all been given a special gift in that they were being given the chance to do something that they loved, while making a difference in the lives of others. I told them that I hoped that whatever their passions end up being 5, 10, or 50 years from now, that they will always try to find a way to unite their passions with ways to give back – some how, some way.

And while there, I happened to notice a flyer for a similar race next weekend which actually runs through my old elementary school neighborhood. I just might have to check that out as well.

To further aid with my mental recovery, I enjoyed a gorgeous 15 mile run today around the Art Museum and the Drives. Ran into some familiar friendly faces as well. For me it is quite simple – fitness equals therapy. If I am in motion, I am happy and everything else just feels aligned.

It’s time to focus all of my energies into the NYC marathon on 11/1.

Resourceful Way to Remission
 A lifelong athlete runs cancer into the ground

By Robyn Ray, from the July 2009 issue of Wilmington Trust’s JOURNEYS publication.

Three years ago, when Stephen (Steve) Brown, Wilmington, DE received an unexpected and fear-invoking diagnosis – cancer – he did what he does best – he got physical.  He ran into the disease head-on and just kept going, until the fear and physical illness were behind him.   

“Athletics and fitness has been my ‘thing’ since I was about 9 years old; actually, probably younger, but that’s when I was introduced to organized sports.  Over the years, my passion for all things fitness-related has evolved and, while my interests have changed from year to year, my dedication to an active lifestyle has been an extremely important aspect of my life.  Pursuing fitness is my therapy; my ‘go to’ place,” explains Steve.  For the past 20 years, this passion has taken the form of endurance sports such as marathons, Ironman competitions, and triathlons.

The Shock
Steve’s childhood and youth were idyllic, filled with great friends and memories.  But for the first time, in 2005, “things started to unravel” recalls Steve.  After the sudden death of his dad and serious health problems experienced by his still grieving mother, it was with great relief and optimism that Steve and his family turned the calendar page on December 31, 2005 – all needed a fresh start.   

Two months into the New Year, Steve saw a doctor about the trouble swallowing he’d been experiencing: “What a nuisance tonsillitis would be, but,” Steve thought, “I’ll have a tonsillectomy, get the procedure out of the way, and move on to triathlon and Ironman racing season.  I figured, maybe I’d breathe better and even get a little faster.”  Not so fast.  Pre-surgery testing revealed that Steve’s white blood cell count was elevated and he was referred to a hematologist/oncologist for more testing.  The tests showed that Steve had cancer – chronic lymphocytic leukemia.  This Ironman could do nothing but shake his head in disbelief and ask “why me?”

Moving Forward

Steve met with doctors and began to create a treatment plan, while thinking, “Treatment shouldn’t be too bad; I see plenty of windows of opportunity to continue working out and training.”  But Steve’s doctor had other ideas.  “Maybe we should give the triathlon stuff a rest until we get a handle on this thing [cancer],” the doctor said.  As Steve recalls, “I glared at him for seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t wait to leave his office so I could go find a new doctor who would allow me to train during treatment.”  But Steve took a breath and explained the importance of doing something during treatment – being active was an emotional need, a way to cope.  After much negotiation, the never-before-cancer-patient and the doctor-who-had-never-before-treated-a-triathlete met halfway: Steve’s doctor realized the emotional and mental boost that Steve’s physical regimen would provide him as he navigated the rigors of cancer treatment, and Steve realized that he’d have to put Ironman competitions temporarily on hold.    

The marathon of chemotherapy treatments began and, on days he felt able, Steve maintained his athletic training schedule; when he was tired, he didn’t push too hard and rested, as he promised the doctor he would.  “I tried to make it a habit to run home from my chemotherapy treatments.  This wasn’t one of the negotiated terms, but since it wasn’t expressly forbidden by my doctor, I considered it to be allowed,” admits Steve.  “And I got a lot of enjoyment from watching the shock on the chemo nurses’ faces when I left a four-hour intravenous (IV) session of chemo with a bandage on my punctured vein and laced up my running shoes to run home.  It helped me to feel in control; like I was playing head games with the cancer.”

Steve had one week of IV chemo, then three weeks of recovery – this “cycle” of treatment was repeated for four cycles.  It was after being diagnosed and during these cycles of treatment that, as Steve says, “A giant light bulb went off – I knew that I needed to get involved with the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training® program.”  The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (Society), the world’s largest voluntary health organization dedicated to funding blood cancer research and providing education and patient services, holds athletic competitions in which sponsored participants raise money for the organization.  To help participants successfully complete the physically demanding competitions,  which include marathons, half marathons, triathlons, 100-mile bike rides, and hiking adventures, the Society offers a sports training program run by volunteer athletes.  Steve signed on with the Society as an assistant triathlon coach – he coached athletes on the weekends and received cancer treatments on Mondays.

Keeping Pace

Only one month after completing his initial, four cycle treatment, Steve participated in a sprint distance triathlon; two months after the event, he ran an Ironman distance triathlon.  “These races had been on my calendar since before I was diagnosed and it was important to me that I use them as goals to work towards during my treatment – keeping these commitments forced me to mentally visualize myself as healthy at the end of my treatments.  It was another way of using my passion for fitness as a tool or a weapon against the leukemia.”  Steve was in control – he was harnessing the mental determination and physical strength that helped him train for, and compete in, so many grueling athletic competitions, to motivate him through treatment.  He was coping, visualizing a positive outcome, and making it happen with his strong will and chemotherapy.

It worked.  Today, Steve’s cancer is in remission.  As Steve recalls of more difficult days in the past, “Staying as fit as I could through the treatment process allowed me to remain mentally and emotionally, ‘on course.’  I retained the aspect of my life which was normal while navigating an environment that was foreign to me.”  It’s not an exaggeration to say that Steve outran cancer!

And of course we have the passing of another giant … Gary Papa. I never had the pleasure of meeting Gary personally but was I introduced to him via email by another friend and co-worker of Gary’s at 6 ABC. We were able to exchange a few emails over the last year or so where we discussed disease, cancer, survivorship, and strength. It’s obvious by the reaction to his passing that Gary is another guy who left behind a huge footprint. Gary’s infectious smile and enthusiasm made him a daily part of our lives. I think most people felt as though Gary was a part of their family.

I think often about my own personal footprint. I think it’s what drives me to care and always try to do the right thing. Many many years from now I want to be remembered as having made a difference – somewhere.

While riding the subway in Philadelphia to the start of the 1995 Broad Street 10-Mile Run, I met a girl. A great race by the way, but this is not a race report. The girl’s name was Barb and I sat next to her and her friend on the train. We exchanged pleasantries. The usual stuff…the weather …the race… Barb was new to the area and had a few race logistical questions. When we arrived at Central High School, the start of the race, we parted ways and wished each other good luck. But for some reason every time I turned around, I kept bumping into her. It became a little ironic, almost like we were unable to say goodbye. Then at one point during the actual race, as I glanced around me, I saw her again. Then again. Then again. Finally, at the conclusion of the race we once again said farewell.

Little did I realize at the time that saying goodbye really wasn’t necessary at all. Barb and I would continue to bump into one another all over the place for the next decade. And eventually became great friends. We started as “race friends” in that we would exchange emails and try to say hello whenever we were racing the same events. That led to planning some training together with other friends in our extended running and triathlon families. And before you knew it, a friendship was born. Although the foundation was sprung from our common interest in endurance sports, it led to a more meaningful friendship. And we all know how adult friendships can sometimes be. Months could go by and we wouldn’t see or hear anything of one another. But we were always only a phone call away and we always had each other as race buds or tri buds or whatever the heck we were.

I would think nothing of calling her or dropping her an email and telling her to get off of her butt and go train. And she would do the same to me, or for me, depending on perspective. Over time I realized what an amazing talent Barb really was. She was one of those people that completely wreak havoc on something once committing to doing it. When she decided to try her hand at triathlon, she showed no mercy on her competition. I remember one ride in particular. It was right after she really caught the tri bug. We were riding down the shore and I thought I would teach her a thing or two. So, I hammered by butt off into a head wind opening up a huge gap between everyone around me. Everyone except Barb. She was practically in my jersey pocket, smiling. Her look almost said, “OK, now what are we going to do?”

Her top overall and age group finishes are too many to mention. And the girl could swim. I was extremely envious of her swimming ability. But that is to be expected given her all-everything swimming resume growing up and in college.

Through Barb, I met some great people. Through my friendship with Barb, I became friendly with people like Dave Greenfield, President and owner of Elite Bicycles and general ambassador of good karma. And Stuart Trager, who when he is not ripping off sub 10 hour IM’s, the Dr. is either in surgery, or serving as a walking Atkins testimonial.

Through me, Barb was introduced to my band of tri comrades in the area. That spawned off some wonderful friendships for her. It was cool how our two independent networks of friends and training partners became intertwined into one. But that too is the beauty of the sport of triathlon.

Barb was an Amazon. She was capable of doing anything she set her sights on. She was a testimonial to Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. An amazingly strong and talented woman when she wanted to be, but very human and fallible at the same time. She eventually learned not to take this stuff too seriously.

She knew how to fully enjoy whatever she was doing. And she knew when she needed a break. If she didn’t enjoy something, she would take some time off to regenerate, and then return again with an even bigger zest. After taking some time off to reflect and take some personal inventory, Barb was recharged and believed the upcoming season was to be her best yet.

I spoke to Barb around Thanksgiving of that year. I hadn’t heard from her for a while and dropped her an email, which led to a phone call. I was sorry to hear that Barb had been suffering from some kind of respiratory something. Maybe it was the flu, maybe pneumonia. She wasn’t too sure but her doc was going to run some tests and with some much needed rest, she was expected back on her feet eventually… eventually.

A couple of weeks later, I got the word that things were much more serious than anyone realized. My friend Barb, the athlete, was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer and her long term outlook was not good. I spoke to her again the day before New Years Eve. She was back in the hospital. Too weak and groggy to say too much, Barb spoke for a minute but then handed the phone to her sister. The conversation was short. But her sister filled in the missing pieces. As I was talking to her sister, my radio was eerily playing Melissa Etheridge as she belted out the chorus “It only hurts when I breathe”. The irony in that is physically painful.

Barb’s condition continued to worsen over the next few months. She eventually moved back home to Indiana to be with family during her last days. She fought the way she always did. But in mid-March Barb lost her battle.

How was this possible? Never mind, I know damn well how it’s possible. It’s life. Precious and beautiful one minute, fragile the next and gone before you know it. But as much as we can understand it on an intellectual level, it doesn’t help to ease the gut wrenching pain of its reality.

As much as it hurts and as sad as it is, I feel lucky. I feel lucky to have known Barb when she was on top of her game. I feel lucky enough to have been considered a friend and confident when she wasn’t. And I feel lucky enough to have been able to talk to her during her last days. I still don’t understand it. But I’m thankful for having been a part of her life and she a part of mine.

To say that Brad Schoener was loved is an understatement. Brad radiated passion, commitment, dedication, and joy for his kids and music with every fiber of his existence. There was a piece of Brad left behind in everything that he did and he left an imprint on every person that he touched. And he touched thousands upon thousands. He had an aura. You could feel it when he walked into a room with his head held high or took his position in front of one of his bands. You could see it in his smile. You could see it in his pony tail, and you could see it in the funky socks he wore for performances.

When Brad was diagnosed with a rare cancer, we saw a man who looked straight down the barrel of the gun of his cancer. We saw a warrior who ferociously battled an illness tooth and nail with everything that he had. Brad may have taken some hard hits; but he delivered even greater ones. He kicked cancer square in the face and did damage to his opponent … repeatedly. We saw a man unleash the strength, conviction, and fortitude of a gladiator. When I was diagnosed with leukemia in 2006, we shared our appreciation for our lives and the people in them. We discussed everything from diets and support systems to doctors and drugs and I got a closer look at just how powerful this man was. And through it all, his passion and commitment for the things that he loved – his kids, and his music, never wavered. With each knock down, Brad bounced back up higher, stronger, and with even greater belief in the possibilities.

Two years ago, Brad approached me with the goal of wanting to do a triathlon. He knew this was my love and came to me for tips, suggestions, and training advice. I set him up with everything that I thought he needed, including entry into the Avalon Islandman sprint distance triathlon. I was overjoyed at the opportunity of being able to give something back to the guy who, as a band director, had given so much to my own daughters and who had enriched our family’s lives with his gifts. My wife and I were at the 2007 Avalon Islandman both as volunteers and as supporters of Brad. We saw him multiple times throughout the race and each time we did, we saw a smile on him from ear to ear. It was yet another example of Brad taking on a challenge and devouring it with the same lust and drive in which he lived his life. The experience was so positive for him that he came back again to race in 2008, significantly bettering his overall time and placement in the race.

Although a loss like this is painful, we can’t lose focus of the brilliant way that Brad Schoener lived every minute of his life. We need to celebrate the legacy that Brad has left behind. Brad touched souls and made people better as a result of knowing him. For that matter, he just flat out made the world a better and brighter place. He accomplished the kind of greatness that most people can only dream of and I feel blessed for having been able to connect with him on multiple levels.

Post script – I received the below note from Brad’s wife ….

Brad loved the triathlon so much — he had a “dream page” that he made that he would focus on at night to empower him to conquer the cancer. SO MANY of the photos on that page are of the triathlon… it gave him so much strength mentally and spiritually as well as physically. I am so grateful to you for all the support and encouragement you’ve given Brad over the years — he always spoke very fondly of you and was ALWAYS ready for the next race… I remember he was crushed when the dr. in Mexico told him not to expect to race this year because he would be too tired…. Brad never planned to stop… he was looking for a way to work around it!

Peace Brad Schoener and thank you.