Thanksgiving Week -- tryptophan and no treatment!

Very thankful to have this week off from treatment, Carol and I are so looking forward to having Eliza home for much of this Thanksgiving week. It will be tempered with sadness that we won't be heading down to my Mom's in Connecticut this year -- the first time in many years that we will not make the trip. Instead, we will have a low-key, quiet Thanksgiving here in Burlington.

We will still be connected with family, though; I'm sure that our niece Harper will learn the mysteries of cranberry ice this year, and we'll Facetime with her to see just how much sugar she's pouring in the mix.

Of course, with late November come thoughts of First Run, the only (other) time in the year that I run. Carol and I haven't committed to it yet, but costume ideas are starting to swirl around.

That's about it. Hope everyone has a wonderful holiday. On so many levels, we are thankful to you all.

For me, every hour is grace. 

And I feel gratitude in my heart 

each time I can meet someone 

and look at his or her smile.

Elie Wiesel

Early Thanksgiving season

Ordinarily, this would be a week off from treatment for Scout. But with Thanksgiving around the corner, she asked to have an extra day of treatment this week in order to be free from it during the week of the holiday. So far this round, all of her bloodwork has been good there shouldn't be any problem this week for her to get treatment.  Still, it is seeming to have a little of a cumulative effect on her in the days following a treatment. I know she's looking forward to having a short break from it; I can't imagine having the physical strength to walk around the block after one of these rounds, let alone go for a twelve-mile run, which Carol did today. And the same inner strength that gets her out to run is getting her through all of this.

An early Thanksgiving wish to all of you.  You have no idea how thankful we are for you, our friends and family. Now get out there and run in a Turkey Trot!

Long-distance running

the long-distance run of an early morning 

makes me think that every run like this is a life -- 

a little life, I know -- 

but a life as full of misery and happiness 

and things happening as you can ever get really around yourself

                                                   -- John Sillitoe, The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner

Carol's doctor has said on more than one occasion in the last several months, "it's not a sprint; it's a marathon." And just as in a marathon, Carol's experience changes as she goes through it. There are times when she has felt energized by the support and love from others, and there are other times when she has had to draw upon reservoirs of faith, hope, and optimism she has inside herself. 

This week, when a blood test came back not as positive as she had hoped it would, was one of those times. Reminding herself that she just ran a half-marathon on Sunday, that she is able to get out and do all the things she loves to do physically, that her recent scan bore positive news, that all other blood tests to this point have gone in the right direction -- that all was a little harder this week. But she's doing it. She amazes me. Again and again.

And as for all of you -- you are all taiko drummers, at the bottom of the hill on Battery Street at the Vermont City Marathon in Burlington, beating the hell out of those big drums and helping to propel Carol up the hill while she goes through her own journey. Thank you so much.

One of my uncles gave me The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner when I was eleven or twelve, and I remember wondering why he gave it to me and whether he thought I was a runner (I wasn't), or if he thought I might be a runner at some point, so I had better be prepared for those bouts of loneliness that came to all long-distance runners at some point.  

Thanks to Uncle Vin, Jerry, John, Jack, Rich, or Bob for the book, and to all of you, for lessening the impact of that loneliness.