More than 2 months since my last posting. Mainly because as of completion of my last Methotrexate treatment on August 19, my main "goal" has been to recapture some aspect of what life "used to be like." My first Sunday back in the parish at Trinity Lutheran in Princeton was August 28, and since then, with some realities of fatigue each week, it has been a flurry of reengagement. 

Today I write to you from my cozy, little 13-foot Scamp camper situated at the Big Barn Campground and resort nestled along the Root River between Fountain, Preston, and Lanesboro, MN. I am here to ride in the Filthy 50, 50 miles of gravel roads beginning and ending in Lanesboro. My pal Matt Hom and I rode this "race"--I keep saying, "I don't 'race;' I TOUR."--last fall and had such a blast we registered again as soon as the race opened in June. Unfortunately, ironically enough, Matt had a tragic death in his family, an uncle, 57 years old, who was diagnosed 2 1/2 weeks ago with a rare bile duct cancer. Tracy--"Tink" to his closest friends and family--died earlier this week. 

I write "ironically enough" because, for me, I have intended for this race to be a sort of symbolic "finish line" for the events of this past year involving my cancer. Matt has been, along with my family and many of you--really ALL OF YOU who sent cards, responded to my thoughts here, sent texts, who brought me Holy Communion, and more--one of those people who have been SO KEY to, I am convinced, to my survival and recovery. He was there at some extremely important moments including a full on panic attack right after my initial diagnosis and weekly "hang out" times for supper and games while I was in the hospital. The way I have been taught to be apprehended by God is through the Sacraments--Holy Baptism and Holy Communion for us followers of Jesus in the Lutheran way--which means that not only does God PROMISE to meet us in all our joys and pains in the elements and experience of those Sacraments but also in other "sacramental," tangible, experiential sorts of ways, clothed and hidden in the common, ordinary elements of human life. YOU and Matt especially have been that for me. So this race was to commemorate that and put some air of completion into the whole story. While I wish Matt was here, I am also glad that he continues to be that sacramental grace for his family in their time of need, as well. 

So at 10:30am this morning, I'll roll out from Lanesboro, along with 1,200 other of my closest friends for this day (142 riding the 25-mile loop; 862 riding the 50; and 150 nut jobs riding the 100-mile loop) for a day of riding around the hilly, bluffy Driftless Region of southeast Minnesota in Amish country. (The "Driftless Region" refers to an expanse of geography spread across southern Wisconsin, southeastern Minnesota, and northeastern Iowa untouched by the glaciers of the last ice age that scoured the land to the immediate west of here, creating some of the deepest, most fertile soil in North America. The Driftless Region, instead, is a region of gorgeous hills; cold water creeks, rivers and trout streams; and hardwood river and creek bottoms that is absolutely breathtaking this time of year.) 

The route features around 3,200 feet of climb--you can get a sense of some this in the photos I've posted. This will be today's challenge. Just for a frame of reference, of all my rides this summer and fall around the greater Sherburne-Stearns County area around me, almost 700 feet of climb has been my max. My completion time last year was 5:24:07, which included a nearly 45-minute stop to help a woman with a flat who wasn't prepared for the "unsupported" aspect of the race--i.e., no sag wagons or repair crews along the route--with no spare tubes or tools and in an area of the route with spotty cell service. And that 5+ hour completion time came after a summer of regular riding. 

This year's goal--besides just completing the dang thing--is 6 hours, and this after a year of LESS THAN HALF of the mileage I had under my belt at this point last year. I am confident I will finish. But 6 hours is a challenge. 

But I have done challenging things. And I have done the most challenging thing of my life, both accompanied by my family, my friends, and all of you, as well as alone and by myself, experiencing things that only I could experience and contextualize. So I know I can do this. I know that I can face things that drain me--body, mind, and spirit--and be picked up along the way by those who ride alongside me. I will checking in with Kari and Matt as I ride, and I covet YOUR encouragement and well wishes along the way. (I'll be posting pics along the way, as well--in a world full of toxic sludge that daily is transmitted through social media, hopefully this is something fun, uplifting, and beautiful, as y'all "ride" alongside me today.) 

I also mentioned that I'm using this as a sort of symbolic "finish line." I haven't written, let alone spoken about this much, but the kind of non-Hodgkins Lymphoma that I've apparently beat has about a 30% recurrence rate. Which is kind of scary. 

But I've got a lot going for me that hopefully puts me in that 70% category. My general fitness. My relatively excellent diet. My outlook on life, even as everything else around us in our world and culture seems to be burning to the ground. 

And, my last pet scan back in June already indicated no cancer. I've gone from having sort of medical something every single week since the beginning of February through the middle of August to having ZERO medical anythings. I'm due for an initial post-treatment check-up and cat or pet scan in December, but not even that has an actual date, as yet. The fatigue that has continued to plague me since treatment completion has continued to dissipate each week after, and this past week featured as nearly (though not completely) normal energy levels as I've experienced since treatment started on Wed., Feb. 9. So my weeks have been a new battle between resuming some elements of normalcy in large parts of my life, while also trying to maintain, new, better, and life-giving elements of "new normal" that in some way have been earned through this ordeal. (There are aspects of life, trivialities perhaps, that I just don't care about anymore--life's too short. My time with my family and friends and how my downtime is spent doing things that are life giving--devotion time, cooking, reading, exercising, etc.--have taken on new luster and importance.) 

So between the looming-though-securely-denied realities of recurrence statistics, the absence of cancer or treatments, and growing weekly strength, today's race is kind of my "finish line." If... SINCE I have finished the most acute aspects of cancer treatment... And SINCE I can finish this race, especially with all of you alongside me, I am looking at today's race as the completion of this whole experience. It's all that I have and know for now. And if there's anything I've gleaned from this whole experience "all that I have and know for now" is enough. Really, it's all any of us have. There is wisdom in the old saw about "The past is in the past. The future is not yet. All we have is today." Today is the finish line, and I hope that you'll join me as I roll across that line, hopefully around 4:30pm. 

"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us"--Hebrews 12:1.