Last week I attended the wake of a beloved friend’s father who died of cancer. Last year around this time, a relative succumbed and passed away. Most friends I know have someone in their family who is living under the torment of this ruthless killer. My dad is a cancer survivor himself.
2012 was a gloomy year where my friend’s father, a close relative and my dad were diagnosed with cancer. My dad had almost half of his stomach removed but thankfully his cancer was in the early stage thus chemotherapy was not required. With only half a stomach left, he now takes small meals, chews his food well and watches what he eats. He has since lost considerable amount of weight but is still leading an active life. He cycles and goes for walks everyday.
It’s good to slay the demon. It’s good to wake up to another day of sun rise, to breathe another breath of fresh air and watch the world go by.
It’s good to be living and moving.
Unfortunately both my friend’s dad and relative weren’t so lucky. They have battled and succumbed to the disease. And I can’t help but to feel angry at how brutal this killer is. Each surgery and chemotherapy session promises hope. Yet a relapse would often follow and another relentless battle begins.
It’s cruel to be lifted by hope and then have it shattered by another life sentence. All we could do is to helplessly watch them shrivel and succumb.
I have yet to regain full mobility of my left knee but the regular cycling trips have helped strengthen my thighs and build up my stamina.
2 months ago, I finally mustered enough courage to go onto the treadmill. It was in a spur of the moment, I was not attired, clad in my denim shorts without my usual jogging accessories. (music and drink) My boys watched on while I stepped onto the machine, I told them I just wanted to test out my leg. Half of me was worried that I would wreck my knee further, the other half knew that I would never find out if I don’t try.
Alas, I lasted half an hour on the treadmill! I was thrilled. I was exhilarated. I could run!
After trying out a couple more times on the treadmill, I finally made it outdoors last Friday for my first 10km run for the year. The beginning of the run was awful; my legs weighed a tonne; I couldn’t stop thinking about the bad air I was breathing in due to the haze. It also didn’t help that I had to stop multiple times to answer my phone. It was the first day of school holiday and I had snuck out in the morning while the boys were asleep. When they finally woke up, the younger one had to call me multiple times to check on me. Arrrggghh!
My pace was erratic; I couldn’t maintain a good pace; my posture was poor and it caused my calf muscles to tense up and ache; it was only much later that my muscles started to ease up but by then I was already gasping for air. I took much longer than usual to complete the run. It was demoralizing; I felt so not ready for the run.
I know I would be a nervous wreck at the starting point and my energy would probably be sapped by the hot sun (the race starts at 7am, which is a tad late, if you ask me). I worry that my heart would thump too hard and my legs might decide to go on strike that day. I could foresee that it is not going to be an easy run and I have thoughts of chickening out.
For me it’s a 15 km race to the finishing line but for many of the cancer patients, their race is one with an uncertain destination, a race with no finishing line.
My mind was set. This Sunday, come what may, I shall run and complete the race.
I will run.
To honor those who had fought.
To celebrate those who had won.
To remember those who had lost.
To cheer those who are still fighting.
Note : This is not a sponsored post, do head over here if you wish to make a donation to the Singapore Cancer Society