Big Lungs

After a mere 18 attempts, I finally feel like I’ve triumphantly conquered the marathon distance—if you overlook the minor detail of a slightly inconvenient respiratory problem. Now, it’s clearly time to move on to new challenges: trail running!

Training began today with the epic task of tackling a 400-meter stair path to Sandcut Beach on Vancouver Island (thanks Andrea!). It took me just half an hour to walk down and back, so I’d say the future looks… wildly promising!

Some people are known for their big hearts—for being kind, generous, and compassionate. Me? I’m aiming for “Big Lungs Luc.” Even if those treacherous organs are currently spreading malicious lies and doing their best to assassinate me.

The end of my marathoning “career”

The Victoria Marathon holds a special place in my heart. It was my very first marathon back in 2013, and I loved the sense of quiet closure that came with it also being my last.

I completed it today. A wave of fatigue hit me around the halfway mark, and I ended up walking the last 10K. No matter—I simply wanted to finish, and I did, regardless of the time. As recently as yesterday, I wasn't even sure I'd be able to make it to the starting line. Sheryl convinced me to at least begin, reminding me that I enjoy being with "my people"—other obsessive runners—more than I enjoy the painful run itself.

I ended up near the back of the pack, but I truly don’t care. My only goal was to end my marathoning journey where it began, and I’m so happy to have finished under the 6.5-hour cutoff. My time was about 90 minutes slower than last year, but that's perfectly okay.

As it happens, this was my 18th marathon.

In mystical Judaism, numbers and letters are connected through Gematria, where each letter has a numerical value. The number 18 represents "life." It feels perfectly fitting. I’m grateful to have "my people"—both my running family and my EA family. Of course, these are in addition to my real family.

My wife Sheryl took the video below, after waiting patiently for five hours (!) in the rain. That's way longer than any race I was patient enough to watch. She is my biggest fan.

And  just to be clear—I didn’t share this to show off or prove I’m an invincible machine. I’m definitely not a tough guy. My left lung is still collapsed, and my breathing sounds more like an elderly poodle in a stroller on the streets of Vancouver than a marathon runner.

The fact that I managed to run two-thirds of the race, despite being wildly underprepared, is thanks to whatever was left from fifteen years of past training. I walked the last third once I realized I could still beat the cutoff time and just finish.

I’d also like to use this little adventure to raise awareness among “my people” about lung cancer and the importance of early detection. I’m still working out how to do that in a way that feels genuine, not performative.

Meh and Blah

This morning we visited the Sooke Country Market. Farmers’ markets are not my favorite activity, largely because of an article I once read about some unscrupulous vendors who sell produce they buy from grocery chains.

On the way, Sheryl kept repeating: “I know it’s not your thing. It’s not remotely interesting to you.” I assured her that simply going out was fine. When we arrived, Sheryl asked: “Do you want to stay in the car? You may find interesting people to talk to. Maybe you’ll find someone working on an interesting craft, and be curious to watch how they’re doing it. Maybe you’ll find some vegetables you’ve never tried before.” The last suggestion was so unlike the old me that I eagerly got out of the car.

She continued: “You want to belong, but you’re not doing anything about it because you think it’s too much work to get to know anyone.” That’s true-but I doubt that with my gentle hands I’d be accepted into the farmers’ association. I settled for petting every dog in sight.

I assured her that since attending four different forms of psychotherapy in the past few months and transcendental-meditating daily, I’m a transformed person. I’m open and accepting of most experiences I used to avoid-including small-town farmers’ markets, psychotherapy, spiritual counseling, blood tests, and CT scans. I even use three different kinds of creams for the skin-drying side effects of the cancer pill. Yet, I do have red lines: I refuse to go line dancing.

Nothing signifies an attitudinal change toward the entire experience of living with terminal cancer like “Meh” or “Blah,” depending on your upbringing. So, my souvenir purchase from the market was this magnet of a sheep.

Rainforest

A week ago, as a shore excursion on the Alaskan cruise, we walked in a rainforest. Today we biked in one in Sooke Potholes Park, BC. I’d say that our local.rainforest is more authentic - it actually rained here in the morning.

My friend, Vince

On Oct. 2, my friend and former colleague, Vince, died of lung cancer. He was diagnosed just a few months before me. He was kind and generous. Two months ago, even when his situation was worse than mine, he was the one comforting me, relating to my anxiety with needles, side effects and death. That’s the kind of person he was.

Inside Passage

It seems fitting to finish my reflective cruise from Anchorage to Vancouver by sailing through British Columbia’s Inside Passage at sunset, under an almost full moon. The Passage is a sheltered, sometimes narrow coastal route that winds through islands, fjords, and forested mountains, known for its calm waters and occasional wildlife.

Mountains, ocean, and cedar trees that have stood for ages,
remind me how brief our time is.
The water is calm, and everything feels still.
I hold the moments I can, letting the rest fade quietly.

Falling asleep

Some members of my club—the one no one wants to join—a club for people living with metastatic cancer, choose to end their suffering through Medical Assistance In Dying (MAID). In Canada, it’s legal and carried out in hospitals or certain hospices with an IV injection that eases you into sleep and brings the heart to rest—two of our "members" have taken that path in the past weeks.

Now we’re on Betton Island, near Ketchikan, Alaska, standing in a primordial forest. I think I’d rather lie down on a bed of moss, soft, lush, and green, and slowly compost back into the earth.

Canoe vs Kayak

We’re in a canoe on Mendenhall Lake in Juneau, Alaska. Fourteen of us paddle side by side. When we fall out of rhythm, the boat slows down, but when our strokes align, it glides smoothly across the icy water in quiet harmony.

For most of my life, I’ve been drifting in a kayak, and for the better part of that time, only with Sheryl by my side. Now, I long to belong - to be a part of a tribe, a community, a canoe crew, even if I only paddle slowly, matching only every other stroke.

Train to nowhere

We boarded the White Pass & Yukon Route train from Skagway, Alaska, for a three-hour scenic ride. It climbs from sea level to 2,888 feet before turning back down. Our excursion was a sightseeing journey with no particular destination - just a splendid passage through mountainous terrain.

In much the same way, I don’t believe there is a meaning to life. There is a meaning in life, but not a grand goal. I’m here for the ride, for as long as it lasts, up and down. I only hope it isn’t a short-lived Klondike rush, coming to an end before its time.

Bear vs Deer

 I have never seen a bear in the wild. I have tried in several places where people report frequent encounters: North Vancouver, Whistler, Banff, and Jasper. Now, here I am, standing next to a river abundant with nutritious salmon on a bear search tour in Hoonah, Chichagof Island, Alaska. The island is home to the world’s highest concentration of brown bears, with approximately three bears per square mile. And yet, there is no bear in sight.

It seems no coincidence that a bear has never appeared before me. Clearly, the bear is not my spirit animal. I learned that In indigenous cultures, such as the local Tlingit, the bear symbolizes strength, courage, sovereignty, and leadership, and a deep, primal connection to the earth and personal inner power. The bear is a guide for introspection and finding balance. It embodies the ability to overcome challenges.” It’s as if my guiding spirit is the animal that is the very opposite of the bear.

I did see several local Sitka black-tailed deer. I asked the AI to consider this species as my symbolic “spirit animal,” and it gave an answer that resonates with me:

Like the Sitka deer that startles easily and holds back from risk, its shadow side suggests a tendency to hide my true self behind caution, choosing safety over uncertainty.

Glacial Pace

I’d like to believe that my disease is progressing at a glacial pace, like Hubbard Glacier, Alaska. The damaged DNA drifts silently through the lymphatic system, depositing debris in nodes, seeping into blood vessels, landing on the southern shore of the liver and the northern reaches of the brain. At times, a solid shard of tumor drops into the bone with a heavy thud.

I don’t consider a glacier by itself beautiful - it is only ice, immense and cold. What draws the eye are the jagged peaks rising around it. The glacier’s true beauty lies in the mind, in its vastness and its power to outlast us. Much like my own physical self, destined to dissolve into memory.

Novice Aurora Hunter

In many traditional Indigenous beliefs, whistling or singing to the Aurora Borealis would attract the spirits or ghosts of the dead, who might carry you away. Clapping your hands, however, was seen as a way to ward off these spirits or scare them away, keeping you safe from the lights.

Last night, near Anchorage, I did clap my hands, because a local guide told us the opposite, about a shaman who clapped his hands and disappeared. I missed my opportunity to transcend.