The places I went: Canoe Club and dentist

Canoe Club courts

I couldn't decide if I was going to go running or go to tennis on Wednesday so I did what we used to do in the newsroom: shout out a question and take the advice of the person nearest you. In this case it was the construction guys. I had my running shoes and my tennis shoes and they said to go to tennis. So off I went.

Seriously though I had asked my nurse practitioner and she said it is unlikely that the virus will travel on a tennis ball. Still, the USTA guidelines from May say to: "Use your racquet/foot to pick up balls and hit them to your opponent. Avoid using your hands to pick up the balls." I said that to George and he said you don't have to touch a ball. Guess what? It's really hard to not touch a ball. I was never good at that move where you pick the ball up with your foot and racquet by bouncing it on the ground. I touched balls but didn't touch my face and used hand sanitizer in breaks. I think those guidelines came from the period when people were more worried about the virus sticking to a surface.

Canoe Club

There were five of us plus George. It was good to see friends that I had missed. I think it was OK. We stayed far enough apart from each other. You're not really supposed to congregate. In breaks, though, everyone just drifted to the usual spots in chairs around a table. I started to sit down but pulled a chair out. At one point, when we were doing a three on three drill, someone on my side rushed to the net and told the other two to come on up. I said I would just stay back, remembering the distance idea. She said we would still be far enough apart. I stayed back.

I had my third visit to the dentist. This time, unlike the previous times, there were people in the waiting room. Alternate seats were blocked off, and people were wearing masks...so I think it was OK, but afterwards I had a little freakout. Not a good time to have OCD.

I got there on time and expected to go in on time so as to minimize time around others. Later I talked to other people who said their dentist had them wait in the car until it was time. I would have left and gone outside except that I kept expecting to get called in. I waited 20 minutes.  I don't have any upcoming appointments, but for my next one, I'll ask to wait outside.

Still, routine care is going to continue happening, and not all offices are going to be able to have people wait outside. Later in the month, I'm going back to Dana-Farber, for a checkup and to meet my new doctor. I'm going to need to get blood work. They are not going to tell a whole bunch of people, some of them sick, to go wait on the street.

House work

My dentist has opinions. Actually, I think since he has been with me through everything, he cares about me. He said that I have lost too much muscle mass and I should go eat some protein! He said to go eat a steak. I don't do that very often. I don't weigh myself often, either, but I do think I have lost weight, due to the running. I am doing weight-lifting classes through the Y, especially the Livestrong classes twice a week, plus yoga, so I thought I was taking care of my upper body. It's not something I have been great at over the years during times when I've been running a lot.


 I went to Boyfriend's house and asked for protein. He made me some eggs. At home I tried making a smoothie with green stuff, protein powder, and fruit. It doesn't sound that hard, but for some reason I mess up my smoothies.

Here's something I wrote about all the side effects of my transplants. They actually call these after effects because side effects are talked about more in terms of more immediate reactions.

I'm happy to say that work is finally continuing on the house.

Local strawberries are here. Yay! I remember when they were one of the last things I was allowed to eat, after my transplants. Of course I had to write about it. I don't know if they are going to do strawberry picking this year. I have sweet memories of doing it with the kids. I think I might have liked it more than they did...but they seemed to be having a good time.

And to think this guy is a father now

When it comes to tennis, perspective would help

How I sometimes feel after a missed shot

I posed this question to the pro at The Ludlow Tennis Club today: "Should I stop (USTA) league play and only play for fun?"

He said that all tennis is fun, and he wondered why I was differentiating.

I said I used to not mind the pressure of league play but in recent years I have felt it more, and so that has made it less fun.

Well, to be honest, I like it fine when I win. When I play for "fun" and the score isn't entered into a computer, as long as I play well, I don't care too much about winning or losing.

But if I lose in a league match, I get all verklempt.

The good news is that it never lasts long and is gone after the next time I play.

I don't know why I'm especially into Yiddish today. When writing something else, I wanted to make sure I had the right spelling and definition for tsuris – grief or strife – and I ended up finding something useful in Moment Magazine.

It was this comment, well, actually a quote, in response to the essay about tsuris, which can also mean worries, stress, or hassle:

Ibergekumene tsores iz gut tsu dertseylin.
(Troubles overcome make good stories to tell).
-Yiddish Proverb that appears at the beginning of Primo Levi’s book, “The Periodic Table”

Seen this way, troubles can be a gold mine. I've certainly had my share.

The reason I was kvetching to Edsel (the pro) was that a tiebreaker in a doubles match did not end up the way I wanted it to go.

Also my rating went down this year.

Edsel said, "Who cares about your rating? What does the score matter? Did you have fun while you were playing?"

He told me that he remembered when I had just come back and was so weak that I could barely pick up a racquet.

I said that it was nine years ago and I sometimes lose perspective. He said, not in so many words, that maybe I should get it back.

I couldn't remember if I had shown him my story in espnW.com about how tennis helped me recover from leukemia. He said he hadn't seen it. We went over to the computer and looked it up. Through Edsel's reminder and glancing at my story, I began to feel a little more of that perspective thing.

Players from different teams were sitting around eating and talking. The home team from our group had brought fruit and yummy baked snacks. There were some fabulous fudge brownies. Also strawberries dipped in chocolate.

After a while I walked across the room to the table where two other teams were sitting. I said I had had a lot of carbs and wondered if I could have some of their protein. I know most of them so it came out as less strange than it sounds. They graciously shared: cheese and crackers, peanuts, veggie/chicken white pizza, and, for my second dessert, chocolate chip cookies and corn muffins. We talked about a lot of things. I kept saying goodbye and then sitting down. It was too pleasant to leave.

I told someone I couldn't stop eating. She said I should eat all I wanted; she remembered when I barely had any appetite at all, and this was much better.

I told Edsel I would miss this if I stopped playing league tennis.

He said that if I wanted, I could just come and eat the food and watch other people play.

Knowing me, I'd get shpilkes if I did that.

Tennis a hazardous sport at times

Things might be looking up in the foot department because today I have an appointment with Ken Holt, the physical therapist who cured my plantar fasciitis with soft orthotics made on the spot, thereby causing me to be optimistic about his ability to prescribe a cure for the painful big toe and the area beneath it on the top of my foot.

My right leg in general is not so great because I am sporting a bruise the size of a cantaloupe on my calf after being hit by a ball during Friday night's pizza mixer in Ludlow. In the past when I got hit by a ball maybe it was my fault for not getting out of the way, but there was nothing I could have done about the wild serve that a (guy) player hit (hard) onto the wrong half of the court. It was supposed to go to my partner, the receiver, in the ad court, but instead it creamed me as I stood in the deuce court on the service line.

I hobbled up to the net and said that, technically, it was their point. Sometimes people don't realize it, but according to USTA rules, a so-called body shot is always the opponent's point:

If any ball (during the service or a rally) hits a player before it hits the ground, no matter where that opposing player(s) is standing and no matter how far out the ball was heading, that player/team loses the point.

They said they would feel terrible taking the point, so they didn't, playing it as a missed first serve, after which they won the point on the second serve anyway.

I haven't run or played tennis since then, but I have gone to exercise classes at the Y because:

(a) it's hard for me to sit still
(b) there is not really any pounding on my foot
(c) we do a lot of weight-lifting which is good to do although my least favorite, and,
(d) there is a "winter wellness challenge" going on and we have been given little cards for the instructors to initial after each workout; when you complete 10 workouts you can be entered to win prizes.

I never win anything, or maybe I did once and it was a sweatband or something, but there is nothing like a little incentivizing.

Then and now

This time last summer, I went with my tennis team to compete in the regional tournament known as the Districts, formally called the District Championships. The team, sponsored by the USTA, is in a Western Massachusetts league. When you win your regular season or place second, you advance to the Districts, where you play teams from different states. It's always the first weekend in August, which last year was Aug. 4 and 5. If you win there, it's on to the Nationals.

Players always get a little worked up at the Districts, where the competition can be intense. The location changes from year to year; last year we went to Southern Connecticut and played teams from that wealthy area. For our first match, our opponent was the team that eventually won the whole thing. The women were tall, svelte, tanned and for the most part gorgeous. They had long blonde pony-tailed hair. They were nice, but we couldn't help but call them the Barbies. They wore turquoise and white outfits; our colors were yellow and black. In the restroom, I heard one of them call our team the Bumblebees. I hope this doesn't sound like sour grapes, but they looked like they played every day. My partner and I lost.

Playing with a different partner in the next match, we won against a more normal-looking team. It's a great feeling to win at the Districts, where, when you come up from the court, everyone claps.

Our team went out to dinner, had a few drinks and generally had a good time together, whether we had lost or won, although I have to admit that over the years when we lose at the Districts, many of us dissolve into an agonizing post-mortem in which we play the "If only I had...." game, as in "If only I hadn't lost my serve so many times," or "If only I hadn't hit that last ball out," etc.

If only my tennis loss was my biggest problem.

Physically I felt great at last year's Districts, though I was anxious about my doctor's appointment that coming Monday. My doctor had been keeping an eye on a worrisome decrease in my white blood count, and on Monday, a blood test would show if the counts were still low or if they had recovered to a normal level.

Monday, Aug. 6, 2007: The blood count was still low, and the doctor performed a bone marrow biopsy to find out of the leukemia had returned.

Wednesday, Aug. 8, 2007: I went back for the results. The leukemia had, indeed, returned, after nearly four years of remission. The good news was that there was only a little, but the bad news was that I would need to go back into the hospital and undergo chemotherapy again, complete with hair loss and other side effects. This time I would get donated bone marrow instead of last time when I was transplanted with my own cells.

Friday, Aug. 10, 2007: I was admitted to Brigham and Women's Hospital for the start of chemo.

I was in shock when I heard the news. My friend Margaret, who was in the waiting room, had come to support me just in case I had bad news. I don't think either of us expected what happened. Margaret burst into tears.

It's impossible to keep from saying "This time last year..." And impossible to stop the anniversary from raising your anxiety level.

But you can foster your positive thoughts too: This time last year I had leukemia and this year I don't. I have great doctors who know what they're doing. This thing is curable. I'm going to be OK.

The other day I took the dog for a walk on a trail where I used to run, and where I hope to run again. I noticed a root sticking up that I had stumbled over before. This time I stepped over the root. So, I said to myself, just because you were tripped up before does not mean you will be tripped up again.

Tennis: The Agony and the Ecstacy

You can't get a runner's high in tennis, but you can get in the zone or close to it.

Tennis has bigger highs and lower lows than running. Many of the things that make running beneficial can hurt your tennis game. For example, letting your mind wander during a run is very calming. In a tennis match, you will lose the point if your mind has wandered off to what you're going to eat when you go off the court, or where you're going afterwards, or any number of benign or even self-destructive thoughts.

My highest high during a United States Tennis Association (USTA) league match occured in August, 2003, when I competed along with my team in the regional district championships, held that year in Portland, Maine. I still needed one more round of chemotherapy and my stem cell transplant. I had a fungal pneumonia which was being kept in check with an anti-fungal drug; lung surgery, the only way to get rid of it, was scheduled for later in the month after my platelet count had risen enough to stem bleeding during surgery.

Still, I felt well enough to play, and my doctors had given me permission. Out on the court with my partner, Donna Young, I was free from the pressure to win because I had no expectations other than being able to hit the ball and enjoy being out of the hospital and on the court. I had so much fun that I forgot to fret in my normal fashion. We got in the zone, and won the match 7-5, 7-5. On the court there were just the two of us playing, but it really was a team effort.

The lows can be something else, especially if you are as prone to obsessing as I am. Years before at another District competition in Providence, R.I., Donna and I had been ahead 5-2 in the third and decisive set. The other team crept up on us, one game at a time, and we panicked and tensed. Instead of playing our regular game, we played not to lose. Lose we did, and we spent the rest of the weekend, and actually weeks after that, hating ourselves and analyzing where we went wrong.

I've been re-reading Ian McEwan's novel "Atonement" in advance of seeing the movie, and I remembered a chapter from his novel "Saturday" in which he described his main character's thought process during a squash game. That chapter really resonated with me for the way in which a game, which is supposed to be fun, can assume out-sized proportions. Henry, a successful neurosurgeon, is losing to his opponent, Jay, another doctor:

"The constant change of direction tires him as much as his gathering self-hatred. Why has he volunteered for, even anticipated with pleasure, this humiliation, this torture? It's at moments like these in a game that the essentials of his character are exposed: narrow, ineffectual, stupid -- and morally so. The game becomes an extended metaphor of character defect."

I also recently reread Timothy Gallwey's book "The Inner Game of Tennis," in which talks a lot about the zone. He writes that when a tennis player is "in the zone," "He's not trying to hit the ball, and after the shot he doesn't think about how badly or how well he made conact. The ball seems to get hit through a process which doesn't require thought." He likens it to peak experieces in which people feel at one with the experience and, in the words of psychologist Abraham Maslow, "free of blocks, inhibitions, cautions, fears, doubts, controls, reservations, self-criticisms, brakes." He quotes Phil Jackson, coach of the Chicago Bulls, describing "the zone" in his book, "Sacred Hoops": The secret is not thinking. That doesn't mean being stupid; it means quieting the endless jabbering of thoughts so that your body can do instinctively what it's been trained to do without the mind getting the way."

Gallwey offers suggestions for stopping the mental chatter. First, it boils down to changing your definition of a good match from one in which you have to win, to one in which you played great and had a good time, no matter what the results. (Yeah, yeah, yeah, easier said than done.) He also offers useful techniques along the lines of others who counsel the benefits of mindfulness.

Breathe. Focus. Be aware of the present. Keep your eye on the ball.

In tennis as in life.