I’m playing hooky from work for a few days this week. Would like to tell you that I’m taking this time to devote to a series of productive and extremely manly honey-dos but, chances are and knowing me, most of that time will actually be spent committing honey don’ts or their wicked step cousins, oh-no-you-didn’ts.
Speaking of which, Elsa decided to take me for a run this morning. I guess she thought I needed it. Didn’t sleep much last night and was feeling a bit, persnickety. Have been “dealing” with ulcers as a byproduct of previous immunotherapies as well as current keytruda regimen. It felt like I stopped by the grill in the backyard and swallowed a few hot coals on the way to bed. Running usually helps relieve and/or remove the pain when I’m symptomatic. Waa-waa-waa.
So off we went to the Mt Herman Trailhead, which is a confusing name for the path that actually does not take you to the top of Mt Herman; rather meanders around its foothills through a dense pine forest, pond, and Monument Rock (picture). I usually do a loop that is basically uphill for the first half.
It was during the last bit of climbing that I ran into a couple of guys mountain biking. They had stopped at the the “top” or the highest part of this particular route to catch their breath, grab some water, take in the view, or perhaps watch me, Thunder Cat, crawl his way to the top.
We struck up a conversation (they talked, I gasped) and because I’m kind of on a evangelistic tear right now I happened to mention, in reference to my breathing, “Yeah not too bad for a guy diagnosed with Stage IV terminal cancer and 98 brain tumors a few years ago…”
There’s probably – okay probably maybe certainly – an element of crow going on here. Boasting or not, this is a story I feel the need to share these days. Not sure I care to perform any further self examination on the subject beyond that, at the moment.
The thing is though, if I’m going to take the talk from run-of-the-mill, trail based pleasantries like ‘ha ya doin’ and ‘beautiful day isn’t it’ or even ‘that last part kind of sucked,’ to deeper topics of cancer and survival, then I better be prepared for heavier caliber conversation.
“Mind if I ask how your relationship with God is?” One the guys asked.
My instant reaction was to think, ‘Huh? I don’t know.’
But that’s not really how you are supposed to respond in that situation right? Not when you have been sober 24 years and regularly swear in a room full of your peers, “it’s only by the grace of God”; or faced with a life threatening illness find yourself alive and saying, “Thanks be to God.”
So instead, I answered the question by not answering the question, “Well, I go to church…”
The truth is, in relation to my belief, some days are better than others. There are a lot of moments when I feel the opposite of “sure” about anything. I’m barely making it up the trail let alone feeling confident about life, God, me, you, us, them, the Cubs chances this year…
Here I can hear the gruff voices of a few old guys with the inflated spare tires around their waists (aka “boomer bellies”) and steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee in their hands. Their talking to me in cliches, derivatives of,
“The older you get the more you realize how little you know.”
“The only thing I know is that I know only a little.”
And I relate.
Oh well, guess it could be worse. Perhaps the fact that these statements ring true- combined with my own expanding waist line – means I’m getting older. Older = good. (-;
PS. Elsa was not working on ulcers but she definitely succeeded in wearing herself out.