I CAN. I WILL! for Beginner's Luck

"I CAN. I WILL!" Speech for Ann Ringlein's Beginner's Luck Half/Marathon Class

I have always been a runner, and despite what cancer tries to take from me, running will always be in my blood. Chemo, radiation, an assortment of non-performance enhancing drugs, a resting heart rate twice as fast as the beat at the peak of my career, annoying side effects--they have chipped away at my minute-per-mile pace, but they can't take away what I know: my inner being--at its very core--is a runner; I have always been a runner.

How has running defined my existence? I can’t imagine a time in my life where running hasn’t been a key part of it. From summer fun runs with my father to four state high school team championships at Lincoln Southeast; from an All-American cross country runner at Wesleyan to a cross country and track coach at Lincoln East High School, my center of gravity has always been around running.

Even though I’m not running on a daily basis now, many of my friendships have running as their foundations. I spent spring break with two of my best friends--two women I probably wouldn't have become friends with if it hadn't been for running. Felicia and I spent our childhood summers making endless left turns, passing batons and stories, creating memories evoking the rallying cry of "last one, best one." Katherine and I started out despising each other, but that negative fuel burned into competition and, later, camaraderie. Looking back, we were all successful racers, but now, thanks to time and our own unique and debilitating health issues, the numbers on our stopwatches don't matter anymore; however, we are still runners at heart. I still hang out with my high school and Nebraska Wesleyan teammates and coaches--we have forged bonds that will never break--we have run literal and metaphorical marathons together. My love for running now is focused around my coaching at Lincoln East High School. I love my runners. I am married to another cross country and track coach. Brian and I spend everyday living and breathing running.

What does it mean to be a runner? And how has my “runner mentality” defined me?

The "I CAN. I WILL!" mantra

I Can, I Will

I learned the positive affirmation, “I can, I will,” from my Southeast High School cross-country coach, Ted Larson.  That motivating statement quickly became our team’s rallying cry in the middle of the race, and those four words carried my high school teammates and me through four undefeated seasons.  I let that phrase guide me to a successful college running career at Wesleyan and during three marathons where my body wanted me to quit but my mind willed me to finish.  However, that simple, yet inspiring, affirmation was the most valuable when I was diagnosed with breast cancer two weeks after finishing the 2009 New York City Marathon. 

Immediately, after that life-altering phone call, I realized that those “I can, I will” statements would continue to define my life:

• I can, I will…beat “CANcer” because I have an amazing support system of family, friends, colleagues, students, doctors, and total strangers;
• I can, I will…keep a positive self-image, no matter how my body is transformed;
• I can, I will…continue teaching students how to overcome obstacles with grace, humor, and perseverance;
• I can, I will…defy cancer by sporting a hot pink Mohawk and use my head as an art canvas;
• I can, I will…continue running with my track athletes, even if chemo aids me in reenacting the scene from Chariots of Fire;
• I can, I will…use humor to make the “cancer experience” entertaining, even though in reality uncertainty can be terrifying;
• I can, I will…remind others that every day, no matter how insignificant or mundane it seems, is a day to treasure and enjoy;
• I can, I will…stay focused, remain mentally tough, and exude confidence;
• I can, I will…maintain a positive attitude and help others keep a healthy perspective on what is really important;
• I can, I will…work on being more patient and learn to ask for help;
• I can, I will…share my love and make sure others know that I care about them everyday;
• I can, I will…model how to deal with adversity;
• I can, I will…achieve my goals and help others be successful;
• I can, I will…keep running this marathon and encourage those around me to keep fighting as well;
• And…I can, I will…make it to the finish line.

From my experience, I can attest that the four words, “I can, I will,” are much more powerful then the three words, “You have cancer.” 

* * *  

During the Halfsy last fall, Courtney's friend, Peg, who was running with our "I CAN. I WILL!" group asked me, as we ran by the East High marquee, "How did you get your slogan, "I can, I will," up there?" Peg didn't know that I taught at East. The phrase has taken over our athletic department this year. Wendy Henrichs, my friend and athletic director, made "I CAN. I WILL!" a rallying cry, for all of our athletes and teams. As a coaching staff, we have modified the phrase to "We can, we will! It has fully been embraced.

My mantra has been written in different ways, using different punctuation, but the meaning is the same. These four words have powered me through lots of situations, from cross-country races in high school to cancer.

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

I can't sleep, and I'm attributing my insomnia to my former college teammate, Brad Rettig, who is conquering his own monster right now: the Leadville Trail 100 Run.  I'm sure it doesn't surprise you that I have a friend who is willing to take on the task of running 100 miles (at altitude through the mountains) with a goal of finishing under 25 hours.  It's the middle of the night, and I've been creeping on his wife's Facebook page at his progress. As I was also tracking him on the race's website, I stumbled over this quote on its homepage:

I can only imagine what is churning through Brad's mind at this point in the race with (only?) 20 or less miles to go.  Despite all of Brad's intense physical preparation and his crew's strategic planning, it is up to Brad to determine if the end result is possible.  After running more than 80 miles, it's a matter of digging down extra deep to find that reserve: that place where you can convince your brain to use the pain as a kind of sick and twisted fuel.  While I can't imagine the depth of Brad's inner strength at this moment, I know that point where you are precariously hanging in the balance.  I've been at the 16-mile mark of a marathon, and my body is screaming at me to stop.  The last 10 miles seem intangible.  Yet, somehow, that "I can. I will!" mentality overrides the physical desire to quit, and I can keep plugging away, until the goal of finishing is accomplished.

I remember doing long runs in high school.  We would get to the first mile mark, and I would always exclaim: one down, nine to go.  While this proclamation might sound negative, I said it with arrogant optimism. While we still had nine more miles to run, we were given lots of time to test our determination, laugh at each other's jokes, support each other physically and mentally, and eventually relish in our success of finishing our day's goal.

I would like to think that Brad optimistically thought after the first mile: one down, 99 to go.

Whether it's running a 100-mile race (or for the slightly less crazy person, a marathon) or fighting cancer, it's all about doing "more than you think you can."  You will, like Jimmy Buffett said, have to have some "changes in latitudes" to navigate the rugged terrain and the overwhelming distance, and you have to make "changes in [your] attitudes"to negotiate the obstacles you will inevitably face.

However, we can always do more than we think we can.

The crocodile phenomenon:

Drifting down a crocodile-infested river in 2005, our aboriginal guide quickly identified my personality traits, and she informed me that my totem was a crocodile. I wasn’t sure if it was good to be labeled a “crocodile,” and, when I returned home from Australia that summer, I did some research. What I discovered was that I am very much a crocodile, as they exhibit power, tenacity, wisdom, creativity, and survival.

Now, after tackling another cancer diagnosis—this time much more serious and life-threatening, the line from Scott A King’s book, Animal Dreaming, resonates with me: “A bi-product of being forced to think outside the box in order to survive, Crocodile people can turn any negative experience into a positive one. They are able to see opportunity in the direst of situations.”  

The Cancer "Bonus"

Cancer certainly isn't all bad...the first part of the word is "can" after all.  It has given me new opportunities, and it has made me more motivated to accomplish my goals. I'm an animal lover, and it's good to have zoo connections...

Having cancer has made me take risks and step outside my comfort zone. Jumping out of a plane was actually very easy (it was a tandem jump, and I didn't have to follow or remember any complex directions).

Head Art: I found ways to make a bald head an art canvas, a billboard, and a conversation piece. Letting my students draw on my head was not only a "free massage" for me, but it helped them realize that obstacles can be overcome with humor and a little creativity.

A few running memories...

Halfsy: November 2014 

I knew physically that I was ill-prepared for last fall's Halfsy. Surgeries and chemo treatments kept me from sticking to Ann Ringlein's training regimen. I'm fairly certain my longest run was only six miles (I do not recommend this). Despite my lack of running, I had a few things going for me: 1.) I've made it through three full marathons—my best, Chicago in 2004 where I literally sprinted the last .2 of it to beat the 4-hour barrier by four seconds and my last, New York City in 2009, two weeks before my initial breast cancer diagnosis, where I had to walk most of the last 10 miles; 2.) Running, for me, has always been a social event—and, for the Halfsy, I had a captive audience—women that would let me dictate the pace; and 3.) I have the uncanny power to move faster when I can sniff the finish line. Time doesn’t matter, and yet it does.  Our finishing time wasn’t relevant, but having the time to spend with my friends and family during the half-marathon did matter.

I CAN. I WILL! Forever...

My Dash

My philosophy has always been to cram in as much living as possible.  If you know me at all, you know that I don't like wasting time.  Every moment needs to be important; every experience needs to be rich, interesting, and fulfilling.  

When I was diagnosed with cancer for the third time, I got even more retrospective, and then a rerun of The Middle came on TV.  The character Mike Heck was giving a speech at his brother's impromptu wedding.  He said: “We’re all going to die.  And we’re all going to have a gravestone with a dash on it….and that dash represents your life.  And the thing I know for sure…is that dash will have meant something.”

I've been pondering "my dash," and, of course, I had to write a list to prove to myself that I am cramming in as many meaningful experiences as possible.  My dash is unfinished.  There are many more things I have not yet accomplished on my bucket list.  I know I have forgotten many highlights (and lowlights), especially since I try to make every day worthwhile.  

Running highlights from "My Dash": 

• Ran the Chicago and New York City marathons
• Coached a state championship cross country team
• Finished 31^st for All-American status at NCAA Division III cross-country nationals
• Won four state cross-country championships for Lincoln Southeast
• Ran a 10k road race in London to the tunes of ABBA
• Disqualified the 4x400 relay (that I wasn't even on) after winning the mile and two-mile at the City meet
• Earned a medical redshirt from the University of Nebraska
• Won the Millard South Walnut Grove Invitational cross country meet as a freshman
• Trained with the teammates who are my lifelong friends

I wrote a tribute to one of my former students who committed suicide this fall. Tony wore I ♥ t-shirts everyday to school: 

I ♥ exploring new places and having new adventures

I ♥ NY

I ♥ making people laugh

I ♥ telling stories

I ♥ getting pressured to run marathons

I ♥ using the phrase “I can. I will!”

I ♥ reminiscing with my high school and college running buddies

I ♥ running

I ♥ coaching kids who want to be successful

I ♥ being around other people

I ♥ being the first person in line

I ♥ smelling new running shoes

I ♥ crocodiles, people with crocodile mentalities, and Crocodile Dundee

I ♥ my cross country kids

I ♥ running with my former teammates

I ♥ the phrase “I Can. I Will!”

I ♥ buying lots of things at marathon expos, so I’m sure to finish the race

I ♥ finishers’ medals

I ♥ the Lincoln Running Company (and Ann Ringlein)

I ♥ NWU Cross Country

A --> B

But you got, you got to see
That you can live your life walking in a straight line
But it's more than just A to B…

I have managed to stretch out my dash; I plan to keep on stretching it.  I will continue to taunt my diagnosis.  I will do things that healthy people are scared to do: I will jump and land out of a “perfectly good airplane.”  I will run and finish a half marathon with minimal training.  I will continue to seek out new adventures and make new connections.  I will find the way to make the impossible possible.

It's life and what you make it
It's the traveling, not the road that gets you there…

So, I ask you… What will you do with your time?  What will your journey be like?  What adventures will you have?  What knowledge will you seek?  How will you make a difference?  How will you get from A --> B?

The challenge is not just about running 13.1 or 26.2 miles. It's about finding your inner runner, and it is about channeling the “I can. I will!” strength inside you.

I

I Have My Own I CAN. I WILL! Marquee

My Tattoo History:

A few years ago, I asked Jane Holt why she generally hand writes everything in ALL CAPS. She previously told me this story, but the details were fuzzy. I asked Jane to write out the story for me, so I could put it in my blog.

Why Jane Holt writes in ALL CAPS: 

When I was a kid, I would sneak into my sister's room to read letters she'd gotten from some cool hipster named THE DRIFTER!!  My sister was in 10th grade, I suppose, and fully engaged in normal 1970s' teen activities, most of which caused my parents some concern.   THE DRIFTER was an older guy (late teens, early twenties?) who came into Lincoln periodically and who she must have met at some shindig or another.  Anyway, I was fascinated with THE DRIFTER, and so I paid special attention to the fact that his letters were written in ALL CAPS.  In my feverish attempt to find some sort of "cool" foothold, I begin writing my own letters in ALL CAPS, something I still do 40+ years later, even if I never did find my "cool!"

I have always loved Jane's distinctive scrawl (modeled after "THE DRIFTER'S", and I, too, use an ALL CAPS font when I write my phrase, "I CAN. I WILL!" (especially on my crocodiles).

Jane was my first friend and mentor when I started teaching at East High in the spring of 2000; I was only part-time, so I helped out in Jane's newspaper class (Oracle). Jane still loves me, despite my annual prank I pull at her fall staff party. She's still finding staff yearbook photos around her house, and that prank--where we hid 300+ staff photos with cheesy "yearbook" sayings on them--happened several years ago. Since being diagnosed with cancer, Jane has written me several notes of encouragement--usually enveloped in her wacky sense of humor. 

I decided that I wanted to get my phrase on my wrist, and knew that I needed it done in Jane's font. She practiced writing the phrase several times to get me the perfect tattoo art: 

Julie gave me my first plastic crocodiles with the instruction to write "I CAN. I WILL!" on them. She wanted me to hand them out to my doctor and nurses. The crocodile quickly became a thing, and I have ordered many different versions of plastic and rubber crocodiles to friends, family, students, athletes, people who need a little inspiration, and random strangers. 

Last week, I set up my appointment at Iron Brush. 

All of a sudden, it was time to get inked. Julie and I went down after school yesterday, luckily, beating several other customers who wanted "walk-in" tattoos. 

I got my tattoo first. I had a "vivid color" setting still on my new camera when Julie took the pictures of me. I look like a lobster, a vivid, bright red lobster, so I converted my photos to black and white.

My tattoo didn't take very long; in fact, it took longer for my tattoo artist, Erik, to set up and clean up. When I made my appointment, I didn't meet Erik, but I left him one of my crocodiles, so he would know what to expect. After my tattoo, he pulled the crocodile off his shelf over his tattoo station, and he thanked me for it.

As a tribute to me, Julie wanted to get "I CAN. I WILL." and the koru on her foot. She found a font she wanted to use in the tattoo book--the font said "GRANDMA" (we liked the name). The koru, a New Zealand Maori symbol, is on the Tiffany blue Nike Element hoodies Ann Ringlein helped me design for the Halfsy last fall.

Julie didn't have an official appointment, but they told me last week that she could get on the walk-in list. Many of the artists at Iron Brush have a 4-6 month waiting list, but our artwork wasn't very complex, and we could get our tats right away. Julie's tattoo artist was Tony. My tattoo didn't hurt, but Julie had to fight through more torture--the foot is very sensitive. 

I can now go cross another item off my bucket list. Thanks, Jane and Julie...

What's next?

Bucket List Item #15: Get Another Tattoo

During the Halfsy last fall, Courtney's friend, Peg, who was running with our "I CAN. I WILL!" group asked me, as we ran by the East High marquee, "How did you get your slogan, "I can, I will," up there?" Peg didn't know that I taught at East. The phrase has taken over our athletic department this year. Wendy Henrichs, my friend and athletic director, made "I CAN. I WILL!" a rallying cry, for all of our athletes and teams. As a coaching staff, we have modified the phrase to "We can, we will! It has fully been embraced.

My mantra has been written in different ways, using different punctuation, but the meaning is the same. These four words have powered me through lots of situations, from cross-country races in high school to cancer.

I have always had a life goal list, and more formally, last spring, I wrote my bucket list. One of the goals on this list is "get another tattoo." At age 37, despite my recent retro post on Facebook, I no longer have six-pack abs; I no longer run in a sports bra; and I'm a big fan of surfer rash guards. The general public (other than Brian, doctors, and my cats) has not seen my tattoo in a long time--a runner layered over a sun (The tattoo's meaning: "When the sun comes up, you better be running.") on my lower back.

I know this bucket list goal is one my husband and Mom would like me to skip, but, to me, it feels like a non-negotiable. Every day, when I drive by East, the marquee speaks to me. If I time it just right, I think, "I can, I will, and it's going to be a great day." Sometimes, if my timing is off, I turn my head to catch the phrase I know so well. Despite my mantra's presence, I want my own permanent marquee: I want the phrase tattooed on my wrist as a constant motivator and reminder.

While I have personally written "I CAN. I WILL!" on hundreds of toy crocodiles, I wanted the font to be special. I love my friend, Jane Holt, for many reasons, and one of them is her ALL CAPS font. Her handwriting is very distinctive, and despite being in all caps, it doesn't scream at me. I had Jane write my phrase in her font for my tattoo artwork.

I went down to Iron Brush yesterday, paid my deposit, got a cool comment on my shark stocking hat, gave my artist a rubber crocodile and my design, and reserved an appointment for Friday next week. Julie Harder is coming with me, and I'm not going to say whether she's getting a tattoo or not, in case she may or may not get into trouble with her mom (who is also my Facebook friend).

Disclaimer: A wrist tattoo isn't so crazy, Brian and Mom. Be happy my last two chemotherapy drugs have allowed my hair to grow...Otherwise, it was going to be awesome henna head art by Hollie Urbauer and then that design permanently inked on my skull.

I CAN. I WILL!

It's not going away. Ever.

* * *

So, I forgot to tell the other part of the story. My oncologist’s daughter is a middle-distance runner on the East track team. Last Saturday, after practice, I wanted to know if she would ask her father an important question for me, since I don’t have to see him until May (thanks to my new pill form chemo). I told Maddie that these were my typical questions at the doctor’s office. I wanted permission to get the tattoo, and since my platelets were at a high level, I thought he might approve. Monday morning, I asked Maddie what her dad had said. He gave me permission, but told me to get it done soon, in case my counts drop. Apparently, Dr. Green has tattoos as well, and has wanted to get a new one. Maddie’s mother said that Dr. Green should just go with me to get one. For the record, Dr. Green also gave me a doctor’s note so I could go skydiving last fall…