April 11, 2011 was the day my life changed. The telephone rang, the doctor and I spoke briefly then I heard the words no one wants to hear “Mike, I’m Sorry it’s Cancer”. The call ended, I went numb and began shaking as if the office temperature had plummeted thirty degrees.

It’s not that I ever thought it couldn’t happen to me, it just seemed the odds were in my favor. I was in great shape, never smoked, no family history, thought I had a good diet and I was an ultra-distance runner.

My love of running had not been a lifelong affair. As a younger man I had run a few five and ten kilometer races and one marathon, that was it. Running was just a way to stay in shape. Approaching the age fifty I wanted a challenge and the idea crossed my mind that I should try the JFK 50 mile race held in Boonsboro, Maryland in November. This would be quite a challenge as my once in shape body had been transformed to one carrying sixty additional pounds and a bad back. Somehow I managed to finish that first JFK and became instantly hooked!  I set a new goal-to run ten. Over the next seven years I ran the JFK in addition to multiple Ultra-Marathons, Marathons and 5Ks. After trying many different types of races, I found that trail based Ultras were my favorite pursuit.

But then Stage II Rectal Cancer “Put the Brakes” on everything.

One of my first questions to my doctors was, “Will I be able to run through treatment?”.  I was encouraged and so I did. A day after finishing six weeks of radiation treatments I ran the Northface Half Marathon. Minutes before the race, in a Port-O-John I prayed to finish.  My prayers must have been answered; I got stronger as the race progressed.

As fate would have it, the surgeon who would operate on me, Dr. Howard Berg, happened to be that year’s race director for Susie’s Cause, a 5K race in Baltimore, Maryland to promote Colon Cancer Awareness.  Finding out that I was a runner he gave me a race application. “Mike”, he said, I want you to be my horse in the 50 year old division.

Problem, the race would be six weeks after major surgery.

There would be three weeks of no running at all and I would be sporting an ostomy bag. “Sure Doc”, I took the application. I remember thinking “No Way in Hell”, but I knew I would try anyway.

Minutes before the race my wife wrapped me and my “sporty ostomy bag” tight with a large ACE bandage. As I ran I was reminded of the song, “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, it wiggled and jigged and tickled inside her”. My insides mimicked that song, but somehow  I managed to finish the race and win my age group. It was a wonderful feeling and paved the way for me to start chemo the very next day.

My chemo regiment was named Folfox. One of its nasty side effects is severe sensitivity to the cold. I had finished most of my treatments when the Rosaryville 50K rolled around in November.  I had a number of friends going so I decided to run my first planned DNF, hoping to cover about half of the course. Most of you might think DNF means “Did Not Finish”, but in ultra running it also means DID NOTHING FATAL.

It was a cold morning and I needed to empty the ostomy bag prior to the start of the race. I kept looking to the parks restroom, seeking a few moments to be alone. When the opportunity presented, I was off in a flash. What I didn’t count on was how quickly my hands would go numb in an unheated bathroom. Kneeling in the only stall I fumbled with my clothes and then the bag. It was taking far longer than I expected.  I heard the door open and I hoped the runner had to pee. No such luck, the door opens again and I panic knowing I have two runners waiting. In my mind I see an image of my feet sticking out of the stall backwards and imagine those guys wondering what the hell is going on. I started to laugh and knew I was on the verge of a complete meltdown. Somehow I got it together.

Throughout chemotherapy I managed to keep running.  Days after my last treatment in December of 2011 I ran ten trail miles at a respectful pace. I thought I was “Home Free”, but a week later I could hardly walk—the side effects had kicked in. My feet burned like they were on fire and I found comfort standing barefoot in snow until they went numb.

In January of 2012 I had reversal surgery. Three months later I ran the Terrapin Mountain Half Marathon finishing second in my age group. Seven months later I completed my ninth JFK 50 miler.

Since then I have completed my tenth and eleventh JFK’s as well as a couple other ultra-marathons. Side effects from the cancer treatments still have to be dealt with along with a string of injuries inclusive of a torn hamstring, Achilles and other foot issues.

Running did not prevent me from getting cancer but it was a primary factor in my treatment. Those who stood by me in my darkest days- my family, friends and the running community- cannot be thanked enough. I am sure that without their support I would not have made it. I am now four and a half years beyond diagnosis. Running is no longer taken for granted and the feeling that I can still compete keeps me optimistic and pushing forward.

“THERE IS NO SHAME IN FAILURE, ONLY IN NOT TRYING.”