Still Running (weakly). Issue 146

PAST – inspiration – “It’s the best possible outcome.  The last lymph node has resolved.  Your blood haemoglobin, white cells, platelets and lymphocytes are all normal.  You are in complete metabolic remission,” said Dr. Henna Wong to me in Basingstoke Hospital on 19th March 2025.

One year on, please forgive the self-indulgence of this post, but I am writing it to give hope to others.

I was diagnosed with lymphoma on 29th May 2024, and underwent six rounds of chemotherapy, and then a stem cell autograft in December of that year.

The fact that I achieved complete remission just three months later was due not only to the wonderful NHS’s fast response – within a week of initial diagnosis, I had every conceivable test, and the firm diagnosis was followed just 48 hours later by the first chemo session – but also, the consultants, doctors and specialist nurses made clear, because of my underlying physical fitness and positive mental attitude.

Now, I am not telling you this to make you think I’m special.  I’m not.  What helped was that I made up my mind very early on, to do everything I could to fight the cancer.  The first test of that resolve came in the 24 hours after the first chemo session on a Friday morning, when I decided that, yes, I would do parkrun the day after!

On that Saturday, I arrived; I kept out of people’s way; I walked round at the back; but I did it. 

And with that decision, I was saying to the world, I was saying to my body, I was saying to myself: “Cancer does not define me.”

The positive things that I tried to do at the time were symbolised by that early determination to carry on parkrunning throughout my treatment every week that I possibly could.

Let me make it clear that I did not start life as the bionic six-million-dollar man you see before you now!  Far from it.  For instance, I always loved running, but I started my running career coming last in the school sports day 1500 metres.  As for determination and positive attitude, I can remember one Scout hike where I was so tired walking up a long hill that I feigned injury just to get a five-minute rest lying in the grass.

Clearly, I am not superhuman.  But, since those early days, I have developed some good habits.  And so I became far fitter – physically and, more importantly, mentally – later in life.

And that is why I believe that the way I developed both my physical fitness and my mental strength is a possibility for other people too.  I do believe that, like physical fitness, one’s positive mental attitude, determination, resilience, keeping the faith, not giving up – whatever you want to call it – can be grown, like a muscle.  You are not stuck for life, with the amount you were given at birth.

PRESENT – perspiration – Having achieved complete remission a year ago, I thought it would be pretty much plain sailing from then on – you know, build up the running, get a bit faster every week, add speedwork and long runs, and I’d be back to my old self.

Well, I improved for a bit, but, by the middle of 2025, I was going backwards.  My times were getting slower.  The oxygen circulating round my body, which I had assumed would by then be back to normal, still seemed to be much depleted.  Learning from Dr. Wong that it could take a long time for this to right itself, I resolved simply to do what I could, not to get hung up on my times, and play the long game.

On top of that, I am now having all of my childhood vaccinations again.  That is because the stem cell autograft knocks the immunity out of your body.  So a year after the autograft – i.e. now – I have to have all of that repeated.  These are spaced fortnightly, and, right from the outset, they have had the effect of making my muscles incredibly tight and sore.  It has been as though I had just done the most outrageous gym session – or, as we used to say, “just gone fifteen rounds with Mike Tyson.”

I am unable to run more than a few yards at a time, parkrun is only possible with paracetamol, poles and a lot of patience, and, if you were to be unlucky enough to watch me attempt simple manoeuvres like getting in and out of the car – or, worse still (for you and me!), turning over in bed, you’d witness a comically drawn-out procedure.

But, once again, we are where we are – and this too shall pass.  

FUTURE – suggestion – I said above that, “You are not stuck for life, with the amount [of mental toughness] you had at birth.”  And I talked recently about ways of building resilience…………

‘I think that you can start by artificially manufacturing minor, testing situations to which you can practise responding positively.  Choose to go out for a run when it is raining.  And wear a singlet while you’re doing it.  In the gym, do a double load of the exercise you hate most.  Run your interval sessions on a lumpy field rather than a smooth track.  Wear a rainsuit for a run on a hot day.  Always do one more rep than what is stipulated.’

And, although those are all physical examples, I believe that resilience is resilience – once developed, it can be deployed in any area of life.  So, the resilience you develop as a runner, you can use in, say, your career and your personal life too.

Take the simple example of going into a business meeting or seminar or conference that you really don’t want to attend.  In these situations, I say to myself (if I can), “Well, you’re going to be in here for the next three hours or so, so you either resent it, sit silently, don’t contribute and it feels endless, or you think, I’m going to be here anyway, so I might as well throw myself into it.  That way, I’ll feel better, I’ll get more out of it, and the time will go faster into the bargain.”

Finally, I want to circle back to where we started – dealing with cancer.  I try to attend as many Lymphoma Zoom get-togethers as I can – and my heart never fails to go out to the other attendees.  And it makes me realise how lucky I’ve been.  Some have been given a matter of months to live.  Some have endured multiple issues – their stay in hospital gave them Covid on top of cancer, then they developed sepsis as well.  Others have endured months or even years of pain before their condition was diagnosed.

And most really struggle with day-to-day activities.  More than once, I have heard someone say, “There are days when I can’t make it from the sofa to the kettle.”

Now I am certainly not saying, ‘you’ll be all right, just go for a run in the rain in just a singlet!’

But we all know that that first step, that initial resolution to stop doing nothing and just to do something, is the hardest.  I just hope and pray that they, that you, that I can reach down into the depths of our soul and dredge up that last ounce of courage to – to take a step, to move a muscle, to say a word, to do something.

Because however miniscule that first something is, it makes the next something ever so slightly easier.