Endings and Beginnings

This time last year, I remember walking around in the downtown sun listening to Taylor Swift’s “Fearless” on repeat (don’t laugh), on route to the Green Beanery for a cup of coffee and a place to study.

“Cause I don’t know how it gets better than this,
you take my hand and drag me headfirst, fearless”

And that’s exactly how I felt. Everything was finally falling into place. Dad was making a lot of progress, volunteering with the Canadian Cancer Society, attending programs at Toronto Rehab, and going to meetings with The Rotary Club. Mom went back to work, starting a new job, and thus restoring a sort of independence to my Dad at home. Dana had just graduated, planning on taking the year off from school to complete grad school applications and working full-time for the university. I was enrolled in two summer school courses, scheduled to be working in two physiotherapy clinics, and I had just finished a successful academic and athletic year. And Wallace? Well he was doing well too, condominium-broken and finally allowed to roam around without fear of “accidents”.

Although we completed the ride last weekend, I’ve had a hard time starting this entry because I know that it will be my last one. This blog has served its purpose - it gave us direction. It allowed us to live in the moment. It allowed us to share our Dad’s story with the universe. It allowed us to digest deterioration, death, and the feelings we associated with each. Finally, it gave us an outlet - a place where we could transform our negative experiences into a positive and productive one through facing our own challenge - this ride.

The ride itself was difficult. As a person with back injuries galore (I have another specialist appointment next week and am still sitting on that surgery verdict), it probably wasn’t probably the best or brightest idea I’ve ever had either. Yes, I fell off of my bike while standing still again. Yes, someone cut-off Andrew and knocked him off his bike. Yes, I cut my leg open and it started bleeding everywhere. Yes, my shoe irritated my achilles tendon and I had to get it wrapped by medical. Yes, I destroyed my left knee around the 130KM mark (and yes, it is still hurting today). Yes, Dana and I were guilty of walking up a hill (or two) when we couldn’t get all the way up it. Yes, my back hurt A LOT through all 220KM, and yes, so did Andrew’s after he got knocked off his bike. Yes, bruises. Yes, residual soreness. Yes, my bum hurts. Yes, mechanical issues (Matt’s chain falling off, Andrew’s speaker thing falling off, Dana’s gears changing on their own). But you know what? We still did it.

I expected physical pain - sore quads, hamstrings, bum. None of that was all that bad. However, the back, knee, and ankle pain did make me question whether or not I would need to use the sweep van or whether or not I would be even able to complete the ride. As much as the ride is viewed as a physical challenge (i.e., after day one we not-so-jokingly contemplated ways to get out of riding the full distance), it proved to be a mental challenge as well. Maybe I am crazy, but as much pain as I was in, the thought of not being able to finish because of injury scared me and pushed me to keep going. Even though I was lagging behind the team, grimacing, eyes watering, and popping drugs at every medical stop, I knew that although the distance might hurt me, it wouldn’t ruin me. They are right, anyone can do this, but might I add only if they have it in their minds and hearts.

Thank you all for sharing this journey with us.
If you would like to see pictures of our ride, please visit the following links:

Team Hendy's Photo Album

Official Ride Photos

Though our 2010 Ride to Conquer Cancer comes to a close, the ride of ups and downs that started eight months ago when my Dad was declared palliative continues on. From a book on our coffee table that my Dad could be seen reading, Gerry Pencer (whose legacy lives on in the Gerry and Nancy Pencer Brain Tumor Centre at Princess Margaret where my Dad received treatment) called his experience with cancer the “ride of [his] life”. Cancer is the ride that started our ride, and we will never forget it.

Always thinking of you Dad.
Happy Father’s Day.

Love,
Stacey

Why I Ride: A Conclusion

In the span of less than a year, my life has changed dramatically. Almost eight months ago, our family found out that my dad's brain tumors had come back, and he was immediately placed in palliative care. About seven months ago, Stacey and I decided to sign up for the Ride to Conquer Cancer, an epic cycling journey from Toronto to Niagara Falls. Six months ago, on December 28th, 2009, dad passed away, his family by his side.

Anyone who knows me knows that I don't like change. I like routine, I like predictability, I like scheduling things well in advance, and I don't find any of it particularly boring; rather, I find the stability comforting. So you can imagine how lost I found myself when everything started to change in the most horrible way. Yes, I had family and friends to grasp onto, but it was the Ride that kept me going. The Ride gave me focus, it gave me a goal, and most importantly, it gave me something to do that was much bigger than myself. It also gave me and my fellow teammates an opportunity to raise money for a significant cause. In total, and with your support, Team Hendy raised $14 390.00 for the Campbell Family Institute at The Princess Margaret. This past weekend, 4108 riders each rode over 200km and raised 16.1 million dollars in the process. Look at what strength in numbers can do!

I won't give you a play-by-play (pedal stroke-by-pedal stroke?) recap of our weekend, but I will say that it was the best experience of my life.

At times it was challenging:

Dana: I CAN'T DO THIS HILL!
Matt: Yes, you can!
Dana: NO, I CAN'T! I'M WALKING UP IT!
Matt: You can do it!
Dana: *grumble*grumble*grumble*ARGHHHHHHHHHHHH (I'm pretty sure I actually yelled this at points...this is the sound that accompanies furious pedaling)!!!!!!!

At times it was relaxing:

Dana: Guys, we've been resting at this pit stop for an hour and a half...

At times it was painful:

Fig. 1. Stacey's aching tendon. Note: she also had an aching back.

Fig. 2. Stacey's bloody leg.

At times it was thrilling:

Dana: Matt, what was your top speed on the downhill?
Matt: 58.6 km/h!

At times it was exhausting:

*Day 1, 9:30pm*
Stacey: Guys, I can't play cards anymore. It's too mentally taxing. Let's go to bed.

But at ALL times, it was inspiring. There were riders of all ages (well, 16+) and skill levels, from recreational bikers to road warriors. There were also many cancer survivors participating in the ride. Not only did they beat cancer, but they showed it just how strong they are and how resolved they are to fight for a cure.

Throughout these past months, I've found out just how strong I am, too, and not just physically. Mentally, emotionally, the Hendersons are tough cookies. Immediately after completing the ride, my mom sent me this text: "CONGRATS TO EVERYONE. Job well done. Dad would have been so proud. No such thing as a Henderson quitter." And she's right. Stace and I are young, we're healthy, and we have learned so many lessons with so many more to learn and to pass on. And we're going to keep driving forward because that's what dad would have wanted. Both Stace and I would like to do the Ride again, but it's tough to say where we're going to be this time next year. Regardless of our whereabouts, we'll find a way to contribute through donations and volunteering.

On the drive back to Toronto, Andrew's dad mentioned something interesting about how it's more difficult to raise money for big organizations and fundraisers like this. I think it's because people don't have a sense of personal responsibility. People just assume other people will donate and that researchers will keep working on finding cures, but that's something we really can't bank on. Moreover, fear-based campaigns don't seem to scare some individuals into action, especially when the consequences aren't imminent. And you know what? This is a hugely flawed line of reasoning because the facts are very clear: In 2010, an estimated 173 800 new cases of cancer will be diagnosed and 76 200 cancer deaths will occur. 3200 Canadians will be diagnosed with cancer each week. 1 in 3 Canadians will fight cancer in their lifetime, and current mortality rates indicate that 1 out of every 4 Canadians will die of cancer.

So here's the thing: my story, this story, the one that we've been documenting for the last seven months? It's not unique. Not by a long shot. This story is also your story. Maybe it already is or maybe it is still to come, but cancer is something we all live with. And after seeing what it did to my dad, I just wish more than anything that this wasn't the case. This may be the end of the road for this blog, but I hope its messages come across clearly. Please continue to fight against cancer with us. Please enjoy the time you spend with the people you love, and let them know that you love them. Because that's why we ride, so that we can have more moments with our loved ones.

From Team Hendy to you, thanks for reading, and thanks for supporting us.

Lots of love,

Dana

One more sleep (or not)

It's almost here! Tonight, Stace and I prepped our bikes with the necessary signs, attached a VERY necessary extra water bottle holder, and dropped the bikes off at our starting point. Looking around the CNE grounds, we saw at least a thousand bikes of all different shapes and sizes. Some were really intense-looking road bikes, some beat-up mountain bikes, and I even saw one Dutch-style bicycle - basket and all. While I am still terrified (and thus may not get any sleep tonight), it was nice to physically see evidence that I won't be alone.

Right now, Stace and I are trying to devise a way to carry everything we need on the ride. Cell phone, money, credit card, ID, lip balm, all-important snacks, sunglasses, gloves, rain shell, extra tubes, patch kit, CO2 cartridge, Allen key. How can they ALL possibly fit into a saddle bag and little pouch? Currently, the answer is, "THEY CAN'T." We hope to be singing a different tune by tomorrow morning.

So for all you faithful readers, thanks again for making this possible. If you want to receive little text messages from me and/or Stace at the checkpoints, let us know! Hopefully, we'll make you all proud! And to the man that inspired this long and difficult journey: Daddy, a 200k bike ride is nothing compared to a three-year battle with brain cancer. When I'm struggling to make my way up that escarpment, I'll be thinking of how you fought until the end, and I'll try to do the same. And if you want to carry me some of the way, I won't complain :) Love you, dad.

Week #30 1/2 Roundup!

The team has now raised $14, 350! Congratulations teammates and sponsors! I never imagined that we would be able to exceed our fundraising minimum by such a large amount! It makes me feel really great about what we are doing, and everyone who has helped us out along the way should certainly feel that way too!

Thank you so much to the Yakimishyn family, Bignell family, and to my friend Ally Fulmer who have donated to me this week and helped me to surpass my goal of $3, 500.

My dad and I met the Yakimishyns many years ago through figure skating of course. Me and Jen would follow each other all over the city, traveling from rink to rink so we could skate together. Our parents would talk about our skating, and Jen and I would be off somewhere laughing our heads off. I'm not sure our coach appreciated all of our shenanagans, but oh wells. When we got into high school, I made the switch to skate at a rink closer to my home and I suppose we lost regular contact. That is, until we were reunited in the realm of Varsity figure skating!

We went skating together last week and it made me think about how and why I stopped skating. Did I really stop because I was too old or not good enough to compete? I don't really think so. I think my motives for skating run deeper than that. I admit, it became hard to justify registering for sessions and paying for coaching when I stopped competing, but did that mean I had to stop skating? Skate for Varsity, compete, then "thanks, see you next year"?

I've been looking for activities to do summer. Ballet, pilates, yoga, cycling...
My point is then, why have I not considered spending my own money, time, and energy on something that I already know I love doing? It seems silly! I have put so much of myself into trying to find new things to love, that I forgot about the things that I already love.

My dad always used to organize all things skating-related for me. When he stopped doing that, I suppose I just never really took control of that aspect of my life. That said, going back onto the ice by choice last week (not out of obligation) reminded me of that. If I want to do something that badly, I need to make it happen. Afterall, I am making this ride happen. I am making pilates happen. I am making work happen. I am making a lot of things happen. And yet, I never even bothered to try making skating happen. Well, it's time (again). Hello initiative, nice to have you back.

I went skating again today. It's weird to go to practice without having my dad there to watch. I mean, I am used to it at Varsity, but when I'm out there on my own...it brings back memories. I don't think I feel sad as I'm out there, rather, I feel like it's so easy to see him there, healthy, smiling and watching me skate. I feel like he is there. Though missing that might seem sad, remembering him like that, exactly how I knew him...now that is how I want to remember him.

Thanks also to the Bignells for their generous donation! They have already done so much for us (for example, paying for all of our concert posters). Also included, the donation of Alyssa's time - planning and executing our fundraisers, listening, checking up on us when we were a mess, and heck, going to fitness classes, and coming over for cake-eating and Glee. This in itself it very special, so thanks so much =)

Another thank you goes out to our friends and volunteers! Ally will be setting up camp at tent city and Gary and Ian will be loading luggage at the starting line! I'm thinking that finding us in a sea of 3,000 riders (who are all dressed the same) would be akin to Where's Waldo, so with that said, we'll be on the lookout! Also hoping to catch my friends, the Andrighetti family, Janis and Nicole at the cheering station in Mississauga!

Once again, thank you to everyone who has supported us (in any capacity). I can't possibly name you all, but you know who you are, and so do we! The ride is getting real close and I'm getting real excited! A weekend of survivors, riders, crew and volunteers who see eye to eye with you, have stories to share, and friends to meet. It will be very inspirational. I can only hope that I can handle all of the loving energy.

Week #30 Roundup

The ride is less than ONE WEEK AWAY. WHY OH WHY IS IT SO CRAPPY OUTSIDE? Stace and I are going to suck it up and endure the cold/rain and do a bit of a training ride in t-minus one hour. Hopefully the trails will be less busy and we can tear through them back and forth and back and forth and back and forth again. Suffice it to say, we've got to work on our endurance. I'm also hoping that I won't be chased by dogs on the loose (TRUE STORY) and miss hitting a deer by a few seconds (also a TRUE STORY) this time around.

As of right now, the Toronto Weather Network 14 day forecast has it sunny and hot on Saturday, and sunny with a bit of rain on Sunday. Also on Sunday: temperatures above 30 degrees Celsius. Help...