Wrestling the Bear

A new adventure

I was supposed to be headed north to the Catskills today for Manitou’s Revenge, my all-time favorite trail race: 53 miles on some of the most beautiful and rugged terrain in the world, with 15,000 feet of ascent (and my first race since Hardrock). Instead, I’m driving south to Baltimore to begin cancer treatment at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Rather than a 5th shot at the Manitou, it’s my turn to wrestle the bear.

If you just flashed to that scene from The Revenant, that’s what I was going for, because that’s how I’m thinking of what’s ahead... wrestling the bear. And maybe I’ll look back later and cringe at my melodrama, but at the moment, it feels appropriate. Things, as they say, have taken a turn…

Photo by Drazen Vukcevic on Unsplash

The Backstory

I’ve been tracking a slow and steady increase in prostate symptoms (standard old-man bladder issues) for at least 20 years, treating them as benign but monitoring with regular blood tests. Earlier this year, my blood markers (PSA) started spiking, triggering an MRI scan in May that showed multiple suspicious lesions. A lymph node biopsy and a PET scan confirmed the diagnosis: prostate cancer, and it has escaped containment and spread to multiple locations.

My first line of treatment is hormone therapy, with daily pills and quarterly shots (the first one today) to block androgen and shut down the testosterone in my body (it’s basically chemical castration). Hopefully that starves the rogue cells and stalls their spread.

The side effects sound exactly like menopause: hot flashes, fatigue, moodiness, loss of muscle mass, weakened bones, weight gain, etc.

I’m encouraged to keep running, to strength train, to stay as healthy as I can in every way that I can.

I will, and we’ll see how things go.

Surreality

Among many striking things, the most striking to me is the surreality, the direct clash between my lived experience and what I know to be true.

I’ve seen the scans, and they have core samples from deep inside me, so I know this is real. At the same time, I feel great. My training was going well, and I was even wondering if I might be able to beat my previous best (from 2018) at this race. Other than those old-man bladder issues (mainly an annoyance and inconvenience), this all feels functionally notional — I have no symptoms and no pain.

So now, feeling healthy, feeling well, I’m about to begin a treatment that’s likely to make me feel sick.

(I’m fine, except for all these tumors...)

Three Moments of Clarity

There were some frantic moments early in this process, but I quickly dropped into what I think of as soldier (or ultrarunner) mode. In this non-reactionary crisis mode (the polar opposite of frantic), we slow down, breathe more deeply, assess more carefully, look behind the moment into the context, and become problem-solvers. Sometimes this brings clarity.

So far, I’ve had three insights about myself and this situation, three moments of clarity:

1. This is what I’ve been training for

I was on the treadmill in the early morning of day 18, getting a run in before the 3-hour drive to Baltimore for my biopsy, listening to my old “Western States 2023” playlist and wrestling with my needle-phobic resistance to the pending procedure (that would plunge a 3-inch, wide-gauge needle deep into my groin). Tool’s “Parabola” came on, and soon after, clear and strong, a lightning-bolt epiphany that I recognized as true the moment it struck: this is what I’ve been training for.

All those years, all those miles, building me and teaching me so that I might be prepared. Not for any particular race or mission or situation, but to have a prepared mind and body, ready for contingencies, prepared to “deal with things”.

And now here I am. Am I ready for this contingency? We’ll see…

2. This is a chance to practice my Stoicism

On day 29, I was out in the yard, pushing the mower in endless circles and listening to The Daily Stoic. Ryan Holiday was interviewing Medal of Honor winner Kyle Carpenter about his battlefield experiences and his post-war challenges and thriving. It was a perfect illustration of Stoicism, tested by circumstance and put into action.

My situation is not the same, but Kyle’s story helped me recognize the opportunity I’ve been presented.

In life as in running, real growth requires real challenges, and there is some part of me, the “something fierce” part (or maybe the part that used to seek out the next hard race) that is ramping up and feeling invigorated.

3. I accept this

An important element of my personal flavor of Stoicism is something I think of as gratitude over greed, the profound difference between wanting more and needing more. There are many things I deeply appreciate and want more of (I want more distance and wonderment, I want more time with the people I love, I want to run all the trails and read all the books and see all the movies and hear all the music a million more times, drink more and eat more and experience more). But I don’t need more of any of those things.

Gratitude for all I’ve had is mandatory, as is gratitude for anything additional that may come (the gravy). But to need more, to feel entitled to more or to grasp desperately for it — that is greed and ingratitude, and it’s unacceptable.

My moment of clarity on this came as I drove home from my first visit with my oncology treatment team (day 37). My mind wandered through scenarios and possibilities, and when I got to “gratitude over greed”, I realized (with surprise) that I already feel this way, that it’s not just an aspiration or something I try to convince myself of. I have already “laid aside discontent with the portion that has been given me” (paraphrasing Marcus Aurelius).

This acceptance, this feeling of contentment, is liberating. It leaves me free for “reaching out to embrace whatever may come” (Tool, “Lateralus”)

Some Intentions for the Trip

Early on (day 6) I jotted down some intentions for this period. Here they are:

• Be kinder — to everyone (including myself) in every situation.

• Ask for help when I need it, and accept it when it’s offered.

• Respectfully but firmly decline help when I don’t want it.

• Maintain the solitude I need to function properly (social contact is draining for introverts like me; it requires an equal or greater dose of solitude to recharge from).

• Spend more time talking about “things that matter with people who care” (thanks, Seth Godin). My writing here is one way of doing that, and I should find others. And I should be less tolerant of conversations and social interactions that don’t meet that standard (while remembering to be kind).

There are surely other things I could add to this list, but it’s a good start.

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Related

Something Fierce

• The Revenant (2015, Leonardo DiCaprio)

• Kyle Carpenter on Courage, Survival, and What Comes After (The Daily Stoic)

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