It’s January. In my dad’s world, that means just one thing….Football. Doesn’t matter that his beloved 49ers have been terrible for the past bunch of years, his weekends will still be all-day football events. With his trusty Pro Football Weekly and clipboard within arms' reach, he watches - sometimes with my brother at his side, sometimes with a miscellany of grandkids at his feet, sometimes alone. So normal and yet…extraordinary.
Extraordinary because he has multiple myeloma – an incurable blood cancer that stealthily invades bones, creating painful tumors and messing with the production of blood and immunoglobulins (important parts of the immune system).
Extraordinary because two years ago, he couldn’t walk, was in excruciating pain and spent 22-23 hours a day sleeping (from pain medication, radiation and an assortment of other drugs to help with nausea, pain and to treat the cancer itself).
Extraordinary because by most counts, he shouldn’t be here; his cancer was found when it had already infiltrated 70% of his bones.
As I reflect on how amazing his recovery has been, I know that I owe a debt of gratitude to every person who has ever written a check to organizations like the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (Dad’s cancer falls within their scope). Simply put, my dad wouldn’t be here but for their generosity. Their contributions (totaling $500 million since 1988) have helped develop the amazing treatments that allow my dad this time to live his wonderful and normal life, surrounded by his family who loves him so much.
I sometimes picture him, like the winning coach at the end of a come-from-behind, nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat game. (Feel free to insert your own hyphenated phrase that implies doing something against all odds or that resonates with the feeling of sitting by and watching helplessly as someone else struggles and wins). He’s held in the air, arms above his headin a sign of victory...supported by the countless people who have helped fund blood cancer research.
And…I realize that it is time for me to join the countless. On June 3, 2007, I will be riding my bike around Lake Tahoe (100 miles in a day) with thousands of other Team in Training participants to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. This one is for my dad and for all of those coping with blood cancer; and in the hopes of someday, finally, finding a cure.
Anyone interested in joining my team, please visit my donation website.
http://www.active.com/donate/tntsvmb/tntsvmbRYarme
Oh, and Go Niners (next season, that is!).
My crew! While Andre turns the pedals, I clean and lube the chain. Isabella plays hopscotch in the background; Adam takes the photos. How lucky am I!! We went on an amazing ride on Saturday. The sky shone a vibrant blue. The ocean was as still as it must have been several centuries ago when Lewis and Clark decided to call it "Pacific". I usually consider that a misnomer, but today competely accurate. There was the slightest of breezes as we head up the coast. We took a turn inland after about 8 miles - down country roads and up a steepish hill- until we reached the most beautiful view of the California coast that I have ever seen. Green, rolling hills down to steep, rocky cliffs and the aforementioned pacific Pacific Ocean. Felt completely present, joyful and filled with peace. 
So different and yet completely the same as my training of last week! We spent my birthday weekend in Tahoe. After 10 years in Colorado, it doesn't quite feel like a proper birthday if there is no snow involved. This year, we decided that skiing didn't make sense. Isabella wasn't interested; Andre is too little; Adam's knee bothers him. And I didn't feel like being without them. So, we did some snow play in the morning. In the afternoon while Isabella played at a mini-camp, we took Andre for an hour and a half snowshoe (in 6 feet of new snow!!). Gorgeous. The world washed with white. Felt completely present, joyful and filled with peace.
