You might not really realize that life doesn’t actually come to a screeching halt once you have that diagnosis in hand. In fact, all your stresses are still there, but now they are compounded by cancer. With any luck, you’ll have a support network of family and friends that can shoulder some of that burden, but nevertheless, it doesn’t actually go away.

On the flipside, however, all the happy stuff we experience in our everyday lives won’t stop, either. Your new baby laughing for the first time, the kids’ soccer tournament, holidays and anniversaries; they all happen whether you or your loved one has cancer or not.

Of course, experiencing these joyful things is a challenge with the threat of cancer hanging overhead. Not everyone can throw on a suit of emotional armor at a moment’s notice and pretend that everything is OK. I know we couldn’t, and still can’t. Moira has always been brave through cancer, but even the strongest among us have fears that creep up from time to time. The best advice I can give in this regard is to try. Try as hard as you can to see the silver lining, to witness the good every day brings. Don’t let cancer or suffering dominate every conversation. It is natural to want to block off four months of your calendar with CANCER, and focus exclusively on the outcome of your treatment…just don’t get so focused that you forget to live your life. After all, your life is why you fight.

If Moira and I had not set aside our fears at least occasionally, we would have missed out. Since her diagnosis, the following have all occurred:

• Moira searched, interviewed for, and started her new job
• I started running, and running, and running
• Leo grew about 16 pounds and turned into a smiling little boy
• We traveled to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
• Moira saw U2 live in Chicago
• I finished a series of 5 kilometer races
• I started my blog
• We have grown close with a whole new community of people

That last one strikes a nerve. Though all of this, we have made sure to reach out to friends and friends-of-friends, and have formed important new relationships as a result. I know I have mentioned Phil and Cassie Brabbs before, but their story has inspired us along the way and they have become our friends. Actually, Phil’s recent entry on his own blog: “Cancer takes Back Seat to Soccer” was one of the happiest I have read all year. It represents exactly what I am talking about. Joy. Even for a little while, and even in the face of a huge challenge.

Your finding joy doesn’t always have to be a big deal, either. It can be as simple as finding small comforts on a lousy day. At the University of Michigan Comprehensive Cancer Center, for instance, they offer just about every resource under the sun for cancer survivors and their supporters. Free massages while you get your chemo infusion today? Why, sure! It must sound ridiculous to anyone who has not experienced it, but (aside from the needles) chemo days proved to be some of the most relaxing Moira and I have had together in some time. In a way, I think we looked forward to having all day to rest, talk, watch a movie together, or just sit side by side and read in a quiet environment. Sure, the reason you are there is awful, but when you accept what is happening you can take a little joy out of a free afternoon, a quiet place to rest, and maybe a Barry Bagel on the house.

These thoughts all started churning in my head yesterday, as I was well into my longest run to date, ten miles. Somewhere between miles 6 and 7 I realized that I was inadvertently passing through the very place I was when I took the worst phone call of my life. It was Moira, and as you can imagine she was calling me to say that the doctor just called to say the tumor was malignant. I was on Dixboro Road near Geddes Road. After she called, the rest was a blur. Fighting an overwhelming urge to bawl my eyes out and scream out loud, I made my way home, where Moira was there with Leo. I always thought they’d have you come in to their office to drop that kind of bomb, but there you go. A phone call and our lives changed.

I couldn’t tell you one thing about that panicked ride home. As for my run yesterday, though, I can tell you everything. I was on the Border-to-Border Trail, and my route was from Fuller Park to Parker Mill County Park and back, with a few short detours thrown in to make up my goal distance.

This was my first double-digit run, and it hurt. I was running well, but after 7 miles I started to struggle a bit, then struggled a bit more. Maybe I pushed too fast, too hard. Regardless of the hard work I was doing, however, I paid special attention to take it all in.

This would be a run to remember. My first ten-mile run, and it felt like a right of passage for a runner. I quit caring about my speed, and started caring about my experience. I saw the new limestone path and pedestrian bridge over Fleming Creek. I saw hundreds of people running and walking and riding their bikes. I smelled the sanitary sewer plant (hopefully THAT I will forget). The point is that although I was suffering, I was really enjoying that moment, and savoring it through the struggle. I loved the exhilaration of moving forward under my own power, and seeing the City from a new perspective. When I was done, I had two reasons to celebrate…I had run my longest distance ever, and I had loved every minute of it. It may be too soon to be sure, but I hope we remember this summer as the summer we made lifelong friends and got to know our little boy. The cancer memories will always be there, but I chose to try and savor these joyful things first.

One of the first comments from my blog last week wisely reminded me to keep my eyes open and enjoy these runs, to not forget why I was doing them just because I wanted a great time on a stopwatch. Thank you. I must also add that it has been overwhelming and humbling to get all the responses I have gotten from you this past week. It has inspired Moira and I as we begin our campaign for the Wellness Community and as we face Moira’s last phase of treatment, radiation...starting this Thursday. There is clearly a closeness in the cancer community here in Ann Arbor, but also in the running community, where much of my feedback originated. I may not be a running veteran, but your support has buoyed my spirits. I’m building up my distance in training for a half marathon in February, so you’ll probably see a lot more of me out on the road as the snow starts to fall. I’ll enjoy that too, even if my feet freeze. Wish me luck.

See past blog entries or learn more about my cause on my blog Average Guy Hits the Road