Keep calm and carry on

As some of you know, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer late last year. Surgery followed and then the news that the cancer had spread and was incurable. The days and weeks after the initial prognosis went by in a bit of a blur, I continued to do some short runs and whilst out on the trails tried to get my head around what was actually happening. We all know that we are heading for an eventual demise, but to have someone sit in front of you and give you a timescale kind of focuses the mind. I suppose I was fortunate, I wasn’t given the dreaded “12 months to live” line which meant I had time.

One of the things about cancer is that it can make you feel out of control; various people telling you different things. Seemingly everyone has an opinion yet no one seems to be able to give you a definitive answer about anything. I guess it’s like a backyard ultra - how long will the race last? “dunno”. How many people will finish? “dunno”. How far will I run? “dunno”. Except instead it’s - how fast will the cancer grow? “dunno”. How long have I got left to live? “dunno”. Where has it spread to? “dunno”.

You get the idea.

I therefore decided to try and take control of things, and while I accepted my diagnosis, I didn’t accept my prognosis. On reflection I suppose I set about tackling things like I would an ultra: firstly I researched training options, what did I need to do to get my body in the best shape to deal with what lay ahead? I read books, changed my diet - I became mainly plant based, dropped out sugar and reduced gluten. I didn’t drink alcohol, so at least that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. Secondly was kit, in this case medical intervention - my girlfriend had heard of a new radiotherapy treatment that could target the cancer without affecting other organs. It was unproven but I felt worth a try. The other option was broad spectrum radiotherapy and hormone treatment to try and keep things under control, but both of these had long term side-effects which I wasn’t keen on. Thirdly was my support crew, who was going to be around at my milestones to help me out and keep me going. I was lucky, I have a core group of friends who quite literally made sure that I didn’t need to worry about life’s practicalities. This bunch of traditional northern blokes phoned me every day for a chat, even when I was too fed up to talk; they did my shopping and even bought me some garden furniture so that as I recovered I could sit in the garden. I had family who despite their own anguish helped keep me focused and asked the questions that I needed to ask myself: “is it wise to run that 20-mile route this weekend?”. Lastly but not leastly there was Melanie, my girlfriend, who provided the most incredible emotional, practical and spiritual support. When my world became dark she shone a light, and despite me being occasionally grumpy she’s stuck by me throughout.

With these things in place, and having committed to a treatment plan, I needed a goal or two to stay focused. Running was causing me some discomfort. Because the nerves had been damaged during surgery, each running step shot a sharp pain through my groin. I’m always amazed at how the mind can offset these things and before long, this just became the norm. I also had some bleeding while I ran, and other issues around continence. However, I decided that my pre-cancer race plan was still achievable. I had signed up to the Lakeland 100 and also the Dragon’s Back, and whilst I recognised that I wouldn’t perform at a pre-cancer level I should still be able to complete them both. My coach agreed and set about putting together a training plan that would at least mean I should get round before the cut-offs. Sadly I had missed a lot of training early in the year and had to take a week off when undergoing treatment. Nonetheless I did the best I could to get out on the hills whenever the opportunity arose, and having something to aim for helped keep me positive. I have every intention of finishing these races. I also have a hidden desire to race “well”, but do you know something? If I don’t, who cares? Getting to the start line is enough, finishing will be a bonus.

If you want to help me out, then just say hi on your way past, I might not be able to speak by that point but I’ll be grateful nonetheless. I might not be winning the race, but I will beat cancer.

Cancer Management Team, Robin, Scooby and Melanie