Remember, remember the 5th of November.
Today is my 15th cancerversary. I guess I picked the timing of returning to the blog because I have a moment I want to enshrine.
If you’d asked me four days ago what I would be writing about, it might have been about how I was now on weekend five of racing. It might have been a curious reflection on how I’m still standing—or why. It might have been a thousand things, but in the end, it’s something pretty simple.
I was getting ready for the Livestrong Challenge on Sunday, a tradition that has had its ups and downs—mostly because I was riding on hilly bike courses. This year I decided to do the 10K and was cheering for some old friends biking, since that started half an hour before the run, when I received a text from Kiana asking if I was participating. Before I had a chance to answer, I felt a tap on my shoulder—and then a hug.
I was overwhelmed. I had raced beside her in many places with a stroller, cheered for her—and like many independent children do, she decided she didn’t want to be a runner anymore in late adolescence because she didn’t want to be like her father. That never bothered me because I wanted to raise an independent child.
But this was the first time ever that she had shown up to cheer for me. And not only that—it was unannounced. It was a really bright sunrise that was making my eyes water shortly after that.
Kiana asked, with cheer and joy, if I was going to win. I laughed and said, “No, I’m an old man now, kid.”
Then she gave me a hug, and it was time to run. It was great weather. I’ve finally conceded some mobility and was wearing AlphaFlys. And yet… and yet… all of those things have been true in races before—and it was still the fastest 10K I’d run post-COVID.
A few years ago, when I was having a variety of muscle pains due to organ issues, I decided my 10K goal for the rest of my life was to do it below my age—something I didn’t pull off at 41, but I did at 42, and sped up at 43 and 44. But there, seeing Kiana four times on the course with her sign, I broke 40 for the first time in my 40s.
Afterwards, we had breakfast and took pictures and laughed. She got a Livestrong duck, and we bought raffle tickets. She reprimanded me for having Diet Coke before I had water after the race, told me about the concert she’s going to later today, and introduced me to her significant other. Then I gave her a ride back to the apartment because she needed a nap—she’s not a morning person—but she’d gotten up when she realized the Livestrong Challenge was happening and came to cheer, unrequested and unannounced.
As she shared all that, somehow the sweat from the 10K was still building up in my eyes even though I’d been done for a while and it was cold weather. She asked what song I was trying to sing when I was passing her. It was Remember the Name —
This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill,
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will,
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain,
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name.
— Fort Minor
And I smiled, because there are few lyrics that better describe what that race — and this life — have been for me.
I thought about translating the title of today’s blog—but who doesn’t have Google Translate? Anyone still reading a middle-aged man’s meandering thoughts this far in probably doesn’t need help with that.
Today's title comes from a Spanish song. While the education of my much damaged mind are in English, my heart still beats in Spanish. It’s something I heard later that day trying to get more Mexican time in at a ballet folklórico show. It means, “To remember is to live again.”
I genuinely have a damaged memory, but long before that, I was bad at looking back. I’ve always been about what’s next—but cancerversaries are meant to look back.
So I will. I’ll look back to three days ago, when I took 2nd place—my best placing in a 10K in a long time—thanks to my number one fan being there.
More importantly, I’ll look back and realize that we’re both still standing—and that the questions “Can I still keep running?” and “Am I fit to raise a kid?” aren’t as irrelevant as I blogged just a couple of weeks ago.
And remembering that today makes me want to live again.
