Tag Archives: Running

Once I was 41 years old

In a wink of an eye. It truly is remarkable. It was the seasonal changes that reminded me. Four years ago, May 2012, the nights were getting darker and longer, the days more misty and gloomy in the autumn light. Working hard, probably too hard. WorkingIMG_1535 hours were stretched into the night and my commute home most often passed family homes where supper was served. And then it stopped. Out of the blue, out of the dark.

My brain tumour’s surprised arrival followed my first ever half marathon (a good one) and a second half marathon (a struggle) two weeks later. I was fit, healthy and our family was settling back into a routine following our return from England 18 months before. Life treated us well, with only run of the mill challenges. Nothing dramatic. Kids at school carving their own marks in discovering their identities in a South African lifestyle. Anneén and I  finding ways to integrate our learning curves from abroad back into systems familiar from long term memory. IMG_1604

And still with the good and the lovely came the unexpected. Loss of consciousness whilst driving on the highway. Waking up under hospital lights. First sight was Anneén’s tears. Comprehending her words, but it did not make sense. Seizure? Brought here by ambulance? Really? But it was true, despite my IMG_1582amnesia. And so the journey started. MRI Brain Scans, differential diagnosis. New differential diagnosis. MRI Brain Scan and craniotomy aka brain surgery. Chemotherapy and radiotherapy.

And in between I ran. Not away. Not in flight, even though at times in tears. But I found running as a way in between chemo sessions to find open spaces, open mind space. I ran to feel my heart beat, blood in muscles and a sense of moving forward, moving on. It was life affirming. Death denying. Even though “mortality” was suddenly written on a white wall.

When I was 41 years old, the seasons changed in our Wine-lands. The vines lost their green coats, changed into golden, red and brown outfits and were then blown apart by autumn winds. The bare vineyard fingers were exposed, like skeletons. Winter was coming, but so the knowledge that the seasons change. New life will return to the brown vines, crooked in in the morning light. New red and black fruit will return, plucked into baskets and transformed into wine. A new life, a different life. IMG_1436

I am turning 46 soon. The seasonal changes includes us, make us aware of life’s ongoing journey and routines. What will follow around the next corner, over the next hill or within the mountain forest. I am not able to tell – a true blessing.  But I can stand still on my way. Take a deep breath, close my eyes. Hear the wind in the pine trees, smell the dusty roads between the vineyards, see the excitement in our dogs eyes. Breath out. And run.

 

 

 

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Filed under My Brain Tumour and I, This thing called life

Running the Challenge

It is an easy excuse, but the winter months prove a challenge for my running and fitness endeavours. Up to the end of May I have been on the road and muddy tracks several times per week, taking the dogs with me to satisfy their feverish needs to explore the close-by vineyards and our local forest area. My fitness was on a positive upwards curve and I felt in good form. But June and July saw a white flag instead of running shoes. It had been tough in the cold and wet mornings and by the time I arrive home in the evenings, the sun had long gone to warmer climates.

At least there were a couple of runs, in the hope to hold on to some shape of good intention and a tad of fitness. Last Thursday, due to some misunderstanding of dates and days, I accidently had the day off. Loved it for having to do neglected odd bits on my own, but income-wise inconvenient timing. However, it provided me time to take the dog’s running harnesses off the shelf and to enjoy the flood of energy and excitement when they heard the little metal clips calling. To them this is a calling to an hedonistic hour, the pleasure of exploring the outside wilderness where grapes and pine trees grows, where smells and unexpected encounters of fellow canines are “like the best thing ever dude“. Off we went. They loved it. I suffered. The 7.4 km earthy tracks killed my enthusiasm and entered the disappointment of failing in my exercise aspirations.

Tiger Trail J-hoek 2013 II

Luckily there are second chances. Yesterday I took on the tarmac up Blaauklippen Road, past several vineyards and wineries. Running on my own is probably a bit selfish towards my usual running companions. But it allows me to focus on my pace, my posture and to focus on well known distant markers along the way. Crossing the Blaauklippen stream is at 1.4 km. The sign past a small restaurant is my 2.5km turning point when I do 5 km short run. But I had the strength to carry on. Pass the Blouklip turn-off (useful for my Strava challenge) and up the steep circle climb towards Dornier, Kleinnood and Waterford. A good run and knowing that heading back, long stretches of downhill awaits.

There are several things I take away from a good run, like yesterday’s. I completed 8 kilometres and ran it at a satisfying pace (recall of recent laziness). It provides a sense of achievement and knowing I can shake of those couple of extra annoying numbers the bathroom scale throws in my face. But more, it provides comfort. Knowing that I can run, despite past seizures and that bugger of a tumour. That there is always a way to get back up when you feel down and out, or when live gets too comfortable under the warm winter blankets. The challenge is to run and I have to run those challenges. Not against anyone, but for myself and for my family. To stay well and healthy.

Another run coming up in 23 minutes’ time. Not one for the running shoes or with our beautiful dogs. A MRI Brain Scan awaits. A different challenge, but one I can’t shy away from. So wish me luck as off I go.

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Filed under My Brain Tumour and I, This thing called life

Keep on running

https://www.strava.com/athletes/3963917/latest-rides/7211a72e51abbd3cea433c6eb1134367d4794ae7

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Filed under Running (The Just Dump It Project)