One statement made by Peter, my surgeon, which has stuck in my mind for the three years I’ve been in remission concerned fitness. Peter told me that no one will return to the level of fitness they had before experiencing the regime of chemotherapy and radiotherapy I did. Going into the treatment, I had been reasonably fit, albeit somewhat on the heavy side. Apart from having a massive tumour in the base of my tongue, I was a healthy individual. I was fairly active – enjoying snow skiing and running (not as often as I should) and some bicycling (same as running). What Peter explained to me was that, following the kind of treatment I had endured, the body could never be expected to regain the previous level of fitness 100%. He guessed 95% would be an outstanding achievement.
I’m stubborn from birth and especially fond of the impossible. So, naturally, I made a goal of 100%.
Needless to say, three years on, I haven’t achieved this. I don’t think I’ve achieved 95%. But that’s not to say it’s a bad thing. Peter was right to advise me realistically, and I was right to unrealistically make 100% my goal (but, at the same time, accept what level of fitness I have achieved without being overly hard on myself).
Since completing my treatment, I have followed a careful diet and exercised reasonably often (but never as often as I should). I’ve gained weight to the extent that I now appear reasonably healthy; however, I have not regained much of the muscle I lost as a result of the treatment. My back muscles disappeared; my arms returned to the circumference I had when I was about the age of 15; and my core strength is diminished, leaving my upper body gaunt and a bit more bent forward than I was going into the debacle (I never had a barrel chest but wasn’t as hollow as I am now).
What I did was take up running on a more regular basis and even competed in the 5k run that takes place every Saturday morning on Wimbledon common. I managed to finish in the top 35% of my age group, which I was reasonably proud of, but I knew it was mostly down to the lower overall weight I had to carry than to any real strength. I also managed to squeeze in 15 days of skiing during the first full year of remission (but that was mainly the result of my fear that it might be my last year on earth).
What I didn’t do was go to the gym. I didn’t strain my ravaged body with weightlifting or exercise machines. Until now. Since moving to New York into a building with a small gym, I decided it was time to address my weakened upper body. My hope was that walking to and from the office (about 45-minutes one-way) would solve the weight I was putting on generally, so I could devote my attention to building my upper body.
My first few exercises before a mirror illustrated for me in an instant what Peter had meant about never seeing 100%. My thin arms strained against the weight, stretching and exposing the muscle and sinew beneath my pale skin (I have to stay out of the sun post-cancer); it made me think of what an 80-year old must look like attempting what I did (but almost certainly with more weight than I lifted). It bothered me, but I was surprised how quickly I overcame it mentally. I told myself I had had cancer. I told myself I was in remission. I was alive. I’m probably hitting at least close to 80%.
So I convinced myself there was hope. That was three months ago. And since then, my shape has changed little, although my weight gain has peaked and my weight is acceptable. What did happen was something I never anticipated at all. Lifting weights for the first time strained muscles I never expected to be strained. My body responded to the gym abuse much differently than I expected. Going into it I had thought nothing of lifting weights and stomping on the stair-climber; I had done a reasonable amount of running and had skied, too. It should be manageable.
Instead, I felt nearly as if I might plunge out of remission. The exercises I did pulled muscles in my neck (where the radiation had been directed) that had never really been pulled since my cancer. I knew I had to be cautious with how I moved my head – especially tilting it backward – but the exercises I did aggravated things, giving me awkward pains and headaches. I left it for a couple of days before going back and trying again. But the pains and issues continued.
So I stopped completely for a couple of weeks. And it took that long to return to my new, post-treatment normal. I went back to the gym for the first time today after the 3-week hiatus and spent only half an hour there. It feels like the right thing to do. I’ve learned it really must be done in moderation – the old body won’t bounce back like it once did – but that moderation will be good in the long run. And who knows, maybe I got a shot at 85-90%?
