Column from the Marion Star

This is a portion of the column I published in The Marion Star today (Sunday 7/2).

I haven’t added to this blog in a long time because I have been stuck on the next step.

I want to continue to write about the prostate cancer – I still have a lot to report – but my life has been consumed by the rectal and renal cancer.

This sort of sums up my attitude right now. I promise to get back to this soon.

Column follows:

I had a job about ten miles out of town and no car. I didn’t have any money, so I borrowed a bicycle from a friend and started pedaling back and forth.

When I got a few bucks together I bought a blue Motobecane ten-speed from a local bike and ski shop.

I took that bike on some great rides. When I was the best man for a friend’s wedding, he and I rode 100 miles in one day to his bride’s hometown. I used to ride to the top of Dannemora Mountain to get a sip of spring water before barreling back into the Village of Dannemora with my nose about three inches from my front wheel. I rode my Motobecane through the desert in Arizona in August (not a smart idea).

I wrecked the bike while on my way to a job interview in Denver, Colo.I have owned a few bikes since then, but the Motobecane will always be my favorite.

I never raced, because I didn’t see the joy in the pain of bicycle racing. I like riding long distances at high speed, but I also like stopping when I see something interesting, like a “cold beer” sign.

All of this is an explanation of why I was so interested in the interviews Lance Armstrong was giving last week on television.

Armstrong and I have cycling and cancer in common. His cycling and cancer were a little more intense than mine, but I still feel a kinship.

Jon Stewart asked the obvious question. “How did you do it?” he asked. How did he go from a death sentence to the best cyclist in the history of the sport?

It’s all a matter of perspective, Armstrong said. You take things more seriously after recovering from a serious illness. Your job becomes more important, you look at things differently, you realize what’s important and what’s not, he said.

As I watched the interview, I was a few weeks past my chemotherapy and radiation treatments and a few weeks away from my eventual surgery for growths in my rectum and on my kidney.

All I could think of was, perspective or not, Armstrong has certainly set the bar high for cancer survivors.

I looked at my wife and laughed, “What am I supposed to do,” I said, “win seven Pulitzers?”

“No,” she said, “just one.”

She didn’t necessarily mean one Pulitzer. She meant one anything. Pick the thing I wanted to do and do it. Don’t let this incredible reminder of what’s important get away.

At least, I think that’s what she meant.

Lance Armstrong didn’t really set the bar high at all. Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France seven times because after he beat cancer he realized that the only thing that could stop him was himself.

It shouldn’t take cancer to remind us of this. We live in the greatest, most free country in the history of the world.

The Fourth of July should be enough to remind us that we all have the tools and the freedom to go and be and do whatever we want. In this great country we alone limit ourselves.