2nd seder on Zoom and a sort of 10K

 

I ran a 10K!

No I didn't, but I looked at my mileage and it was 6.2 miles with a combination of dog walking, walking with a friend, and a few miles of jogging. 

I was so excited after the second dose of the vaccine that I went for a run. I felt better the first couple of days after and then on the third felt a little off...Just that feeling that you are fighting the flu. Hopefully it's a good sign.

The other day I went jogging before the rain and ended up being passed by a young guy who was really kicking up his heels. He sped by me. Harumph, I thought. Then I thought, wait, he's a small fraction of my age and most likely hasn't had four stem cell transplants.  And then also I don't think I ever had such good form. 

Once I got home, the good old negative self-talk kicked in again. I know that a loop that I like, up the Park Street hill with the Mount Holyoke lake on the left and back down on Morgan Street and going a little past my house on the way back, is about three miles. I got back and checked my phone (no Apple watch for me) and saw 2.9 miles. WHAT? I thought it was three...Well I walked around the house for a minute and then it was three. 

This is now and that was then...three miles isn't that bad and also better on my knee.

Nell at the Zoom seder

Last year, after our Zoom seder, we wondered if the next year Passover would be in person. 

Well, it wasn't. Thanks to Diane and David, though, we saw a lot of people, since their second Zoom seder had some 50 participants. The benefit is that you can have people in different time zones in the same place. The downside is that you can feel forlorn when "the meal is served" and everyone has disappeared. Last year, we got it together to all make dinner and eat together in our family Google Meet. This year for some reason none of us did. I got a chicken but didn't make it until later in the week. Boyfriend and I had leftovers by candlelight, and while he was heating things up I talked to Katie via FaceTime, since she shared my forlorn-ness. 

Six of us with expertise in illness and recovery read a little something about what we had learned. I don't know why I was nervous about doing it; it was all friends and family. I get nervous though in even this little bit of public speaking. I could have declined when David asked me to do it, but I figured that if I could face leukemia multiple times, I could do a little reading. 

Here's how I began it, with apologies to Joe and Diane:

I know a thing or two about how to not get out of a lockdown gracefully. For example, you don’t overestimate what you can do and you don’t get so flush with freedom that you go running and neglect to look where you’re going and trip over a root and crack your head. Then two weeks later you don’t forget that you are a little weak and get on a bike and fall off and crack your head again and get another concussion and stitches in the same eye that is still black and blue from the last time. 

It’s hard to avoid the temptation to rush back to normalcy but my most successful results came from being more deliberate and focused. 

But I have to say that now that I am two weeks post my second vaccine, I want to plan more than one thing. I haven't done it yet. I got a ride in a friend's car, and that was the most exciting thing so far. It's going to take time to inch back into normal life. 

In Boston, stepping up for life

Finishing first lap, Chestnut Hill Reservoir

My sister drove me to so many doctor visits and hospital trips that I lost count, so it was a great counterpoint for her to drive me to something super fun and celebratory: The Steps for Life 5K to benefit The Gift of Life, the organization that got me my bone marrow donor.

I drove to Newton last night after playing two hours of tennis. I'm still a little under the weather – this cough/cold that's going around is a long one – but I wanted to do it. I haven't been running very much but thought I could do 3.1 miles, and I wanted to do my small part in raising some money and showing up to honor The Gift of Life.

This morning around 8:30 or so, we went over to the Chestnut Hill Reservoir, where I got my number, shirt, and an orange ribbon reading "Recipient."

Over at the Dana-Farber booth (they were a sponsor), it was exciting to meet two women who work in the department that finds matches for patients. I said hello to Dr. Corey Cutler, Dana-Farber's director of stem cell transplantation, and a speaker at the event. I told someone else the story of how Denise ended up donating for me after getting swabbed at to a donor drive for the late, great jazz saxophonist Michael Brecker, who, sadly, could not find a match.

At an emotional ceremony on a makeshift stage, a recipient and donor met for the first time. Then donors and recipients, including me, went up to join them. I was afraid I might recreate my fall UP the stairs in the Paris Metro and trip going up to the stage but I hopped right on up.

I had been watching the forecast and expecting rain, but it was just cloudy and cold, with a little wind. We did group warm-ups to music – lunges and jumping jacks and waving our arms around, very festive  – and then the runners and walkers (and some dogs with their people) went up to the track so we could go twice around the reservoir.

I can't say I really trained for this event, but I figured that 3.1 miles would not be so bad. The first time around was pretty easy, but I was feeling it the second time around. I thought of walking for a couple of steps, but my mind, and my momentum, was attached to my slow jog. I'm kind of strict with myself. "You didn't walk when you had leukemia during a 10K, and you're not going to walk when you DON'T have leukemia and are going half that distance." Plus, the tiny bit of momentum kept me from walking; it was easier to keep doing my so-called run.

The finish line, around the bend, looked far away. I'm glad that Diane took my photo after my first time around. She also took one when I finished, but I deleted it from her phone. (The equivalent of how our mother used to rip up the photos of herself that she didn't like.) Note to self: Next time take off the transitional glasses that get so dark outside that I look like a Blues Brother.

I was kind of bent over and not looking so great when I finished. I motioned for Diane to come over so I could hold onto her shoulder while we walked away from the track so I could get some water and a very welcome bagel with cream cheese. That Diane sure has a good shoulder, literally and figuratively.

I felt like I needed to stretch out my back, so I found a little piece of grass and lay down. A Git of Life staffer came over and asked if I was OK. I said yes, just stretching. He asked if he could help me up, and, well, maybe you could guess that I said no thanks.

If I do another 5K, I think maybe I'll practice a little more. I miss the way I used to feel on those long runs, but the neuropathy in my feet makes them harder to do.

When I lamented my slower pace these days, Diane pointed out that I'm the only four-time stem cell recipient who played two hours of tennis, drove two hours to Boston and then ran three miles. As our father would say, "Good clear thinking."