Brian Sluga is now a testicular cancer survivor after receiving the diagnosis when he was 20 years old. Catch up on Brian’s blogs here!
It is baffling why we did the things we did. It was easy enough to brush off drama in a small rural town where the unknown is an uncommon occurrence. My 20-something friends had aspirations and everyday opinions about our future with dreams of jobs, marriage and family. I took pleasure in not seeing everything in its finished state. I did pay attention to what my body told me and that’s a clue about what was important to me.
I remember my urologist Dr. K providing encouragement after my testicular cancer surgery in my early 20s. I shared with him my desire to keep my running goals. He encouraged me to stick with it. It was then I saw an opportunity to fully be me. I thought, “Why not train for a marathon?”
About 8 months after my testicle removal surgery, I decided to go for it and run a marathon. I read up on training techniques and devised a scheduling system that would enable me to complete my training just in time for the Chicago Marathon.
I needed to eat and sleep much better than I had ever before. So much for those parties and clubs. When the late hours struck on a Friday or Saturday night, the place I would be was asleep in bed. I would never become my own enemy.
After months of running and praying, I was able to set aside fear and go after life a marathon goal would be my start to that new life. My friend since middle school, Joe, helped me train. He would bike alongside or ahead of me as I would run. He kept me going by saying this was only the beginning, and I had much more to accomplish in life.
While training for my post-surgery marathon, I came across a unique training plan: carbohydrate loading. In those days, wisdom was not just what pasta you would eat, but how much you could eat. I thought, “How much pasta is enough to get you through?” After all, 26.2 miles isn’t a walk in the park. My buddy Joe is part Italian as I am, so he thought he wanted to get on this training, too. We would frequently get together at a local pizza joint called Vince’s. We would put away an extra-large deluxe with two sides of garlic bread. This turned out to be a delicious plan.
Thirteen months after that dreaded surgery, Joe understood my cancer fight. That diagnosis shifted my perspective on life, what survival meant and my priorities. Joe could help me to achieve my marathon goal. It was great that he was a part of my diet and smaller run training, but I asked him to do one more thing. I knew if I could go 20 miles on a training run, I could complete the 26 miles and 365 yards that is a marathon. I wanted Joe to ride alongside me for the full 20 miles. Joe graciously said yes to this three-hour endeavor.
A month before the marathon, I drove out 10 miles of a 20-mile course and marked the spot with white spray paint. I marked the five, 10, 15 and final mile marks. I so looked forward with some anxiety for the early morning run training with Joe. I hoped there would be limited traffic on this hilly, curvy countryside course. Joe understood if I could complete a marathon, I could conquer the fears and anguish I felt daily of losing a testicle.
It wasn’t my favorite pair of Nike trainers, a beloved running shirt or even those trusty running shorts, that got me through that 20-mile training run. I had Joe to help me make it through. Through that last marathon training run I could count on entertainment for the duration by Joe, mile after mile.
The first 10 miles were uneventful, with Joe telling stories and giving encouragement as he also huffed and puffed his way through the course. About the 15-mile marker, my legs felt like lead weights and my feet were feeling hot and blistered. I felt the exhaustion of a much different kind. I was completely drained from the August humidity and zapped of mental strength. The muscles in my legs felt used up, and they hurt clear to the bone.
Joe recognized my weak physical and mental state “Come on, come on, Bri. Let’s sing!” Joe shouted.
He chose to sing “Lady” by Little River Band. It was a song that reflected on a past love along with feelings in the present. Joe knew I was struggling with dating and relationships because of my cancer. He could always analyze my mood. Perhaps that’s why he picked that song to sing. The Little River Band lyrics told a story of the complexities of love. It suggested that one should take the time to be present in a relationship and not let their heart grow cold.
Running was my replacement for expensive therapy. It was how I dealt with my emotions. Sometimes I’d reflect on good thoughts but often painful thoughts of those people in hospitals that didn’t have the outcome I did. My entire mind was on a turnaround path while training for that marathon.
Many discover too late their inner critic. We are far too hard on ourselves to discover our true selves. Give yourself a break and let the world know that you are OK when you are and let them know when you need them to bicycle next to you singing. Don’t push away people to show strength, rather show strength by letting them in. My zodiac sign is a Cancer, born that way. Cancer is a water sign. I remember when I was about 12 years old, learning it meant I was sensitive, caring and cried a lot.
Thinking back on all those brisk training mornings, it was my first understanding of what it meant to revel in sharing a goal and achieving it. Running can be a lonesome sport where you can either relax or get into your head and be too self-critical. By letting Joe in, he helped me know he understood my situation and pushed me to my full potential. He was part of my goal achievement.
What I can tell you is running, friendship and faith led me where I am today: an athlete, a trusted spouse, a believer in God’s healing and still a man who values Joe’s advice, counsel and pasta-eating ability.
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