So far so good. The awkwardness from the first First Descents camp last summer is gone. I know what to expect. Also, I’m not so scared anymore; maybe because I spread my disclaimer around: I’m not a ‘group hug’ person. I tell this to everyone around the campfire tonight. Our first act of ‘mushy’. Up until this point it’s been exciting and comfortable. We grabbed our gear, sized up our boats, had some grub (spaghetti and meatballs with sorbet for dessert) and sat around getting acquainted. DING DING DING. Sharing time. Gather round the firepit. Must we really make everyone go around and say what they feel will be different this second time around? How about we just introduce ourselves and tell a funny story? Or talk to the person next to us then share with the group something we learned about him? We did that as a listening exercise in acting class once.

Here we go- FD changed one woman’s life, another said she didn’t think she’d make it to her 35^th birthday much less be here for her third FD camp. Don’t misunderstand me, I enjoy hearing everyone’s tale. They are testimonies to inner strength and our ability to perservere. It’s just that I’d rather sit quietly and listen.

I don’t ‘share’ to share and I hate crying in front of ANYONE. I’m not about to change that because I’m in an environment where everyone can relate, empathize and encourage each other to surpass their expectations and inhibitions. I give great anecdotes, jokes and insight. Talk of feelings occurs in the one on one conversations…maybe.

We have about 12 campers and almost the same number of staffers. So Konvict says “what you get out of this camp is what you put in” as he glances over to me. Was that on purpose? I’m 100 positive he’s right but that doesn’t make me more apt to sing Kumbaya. I’m more like a guy when it comes to vulnerablity. I just don’t dig it. My psyche tells me it’s not safe and I’ve adapted.

Like a puma going for its prey, my parents would see an opening and take it on a regular basis when I was growing up. Some – many- comments were downrght cruel. My dad would pick on us at dinner. Maybe it was a game to him. Which kid could he crush emotionally tonight? Maybe he had no clue what he was doing. Often my brother would get so upset his lower lip would tremble as he held back tears. Then it was go time for Dad as he dealt the final verbal blow to send my sibling wailing down the hallway and into his room. You learn to be tough when life’s like that. You don’t want to be next.

So do I make my goal for FD2- learn to be vulnerable and discover deeper connections? Or just to become a better kayaker?

I totally understand why more women than men take advantage of the FD program. I wouldn’t say men are ‘afraid’ of the emotions but they are definitely not comfortable putting them out there for strangers. Even ones that will share your space for five days and offer you a T rescue. That’s me too. At least for now I know those around won’t take the lack of mush as a sign of indifference or disdain like they did last year.

I did a stupid thing. I sat up on top of the Cliff Lodge and pretended it was like I was back in high school where I could stretch out on a lounge chair, flip through a Cosmo and soak up the sun. Less than an hour later my upper thighs are on fire. Even my chest got fried despite the SPF 50 I slapped on. I needed this morning of chill. I blew up at Ryan, and Sage was hitting the back of my leg in response to the anger. I snapped her up and forcefully plopped her on my bed, making her cry. All hell was swirling. I feel like I can’t get in front of the 8 ball. Ever since Punta Cana I’ve been playing catch up without success. Looking ahead 10 days I’ll be back home and can breathe again. I will do nothing but hunt for a new laptop, write and climb. Maybe kayak too. I don’t see me pulling a C to C on account of the ATV crushing my ribs but at least I can paddle.

I wonder if I’m doing the right thing going on another First Descents trip; not because I’m taking advantage of the offering- an all-expense paid whitewater kayak adventure on the Flathead River in Glacier National Forest- but because I may not be welcome. That ‘chat’ I had with Whitney (one of the FD organizers) questioning whether FD was the right place for me really rattled my ego. Like a breakup from a guy when I thought things were going well, I thought, “Huh?” I wouldn’t have signed up for a second camp if I didn’t get something out of the camp last year. It was my feedback. It’s got to be. Perhaps they’re used to only hearing raves. Who would say anything negative when they get it for free? But I was critical- like I always am- not in a bad way or so I thought- but I offered up some constructive feedback that a company looking to forever improve should want to hear. I’m guessing they took it as me attacking their program; which I wasn’t. I explained that of course I had an amazing time why else would I want to attend again? My sole gripe was that I felt forced to bond and share emotions. I just wanted to meet new friends (who have something in common) and learn to kayak. I wasn’t looking for therapy.

This is the first year in 11 that FD will host camps for 2^nd timers. The first year- just get them down the river. Young cancer survivors testing their determination and living in the moment instead of dwelling on cancer. Many were introduced to something they never in their life thought they would be doing. Now, the second year- turn them into kayakers. The staff is excited about the new offering and so am I. To start up where I left off. Physically, not emotionally. To hone in more time on the river. But I may be entering hostile waters…and Konvict is our leader again. History. It may not be a good thing in this case. It was his job last year to force bonds and make us all share with those nightly campfire chats and I’m pretty sure he told Whitney that I often checked out. She called and we talked. She said that maybe this time around I should tell everyone that I’m an introvert when it comes to sharing emotions so no one takes it personally. I’m more nervous about the group stuff than I am about the paddling. Gulp.

So this part sucks. I can’t find a pen and have to type! 4 women in a tiny cabin, no bath, all with varying thermal temps and everyone but me trying to sleep. I want to write. Damn! Where’s that pen?
The light tapping of keys sounds more like footsteps in this dark silence. I’m exhausted yet inspired to write. I came on FD so I could have just one time in my life where a trip was for me- not work, not family- and just languish in it. But then there’s the part of me that can’t help but document this experience. I’ll say it’s for Sage. So one day she’ll understand why I left her alone with Ryan for a week while I went whitewater kayaking in Montana.

A year ago today, I was sitting on the roof of Ryan’s car, watching the Park City fireworks and wondering what having cancer means to me. At that time I had no idea what stage I was, what my treatment would be, whether I would see my daughter grow up. I was numb. I watched the lights in the sky and blanked out. I told myself not to think about it because there was nothing I could do over the holiday. On July 5, however, the wheels burned rubber. Like a leopard focused on his prey, I pounced on this cancer thing. I stopped contemplating a future (or better stressing about one) to deal with the here and now. The summer swirled down the drain- flushed like bad poopy as Sage would say.

One year later, I’m here, I’m strong, I’m ‘surviving’ and I’m about to punish myself in freezing waters for five straight days in the woods. First Descents out of Boulder, Colo., is a non-profit org that puts on something like 15 adventure camps a year for cancer survivors. Idaho, Jackson, Washington, Colorado, Montana, Utah. Rugged places if you’re up for a challenge.

My only luxury is Internet. We have to walk 5 minutes to the showers and toilets. There’s no running water nearby and no TV. It reminds me of my eight grade retreat to Yosemite.

Just yesterday I was bombarded by high-tech gadgetry. I had an MRI yesterday. The experience sucked. That’s about right. Took two nurses, several shrieks and three tries to get the IV in. An hour and 40 minutes later, both boobs were scanned and I was dressed and out the revolving door. I won’t have the results until Tuesday or Wednesday; I see my doctor a week after that. Will I be back at square one, don’t pass GO, Don’t collect $200 or will I be able to relax and feel like I’ve poked my head out of the woods? In other words, will I have to repeat last summer or not?

In a way, this trip is my last week before the news. Like a deathrow inmate getting his last meal….Or it’s a celebration of the new – I can’t say ‘me’ because I’m the same me only a little less cocky and a lot less immortal- so I’ll say it will be my homecoming. My new year; my Cancerversary. Please let it be this and not the former! All of us here – at this First Descents Camp – have some form of cancer. No one talks about cancer here. Not yet anyway. Not on our first day. Maybe we never will. This is emotional therapy by way of the physical. We get to kick our butts on the river, feel strong and come home with skills. We don’t need to deal with cancer this week. We have better things to do.

One year ago today, I wondered how my life would look. Today, I’m still wondering. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be stuffed into a plastic torpedo, forced to roll it over and swim in water only penguins appreciate. I won’t have time to think about the good or the bad of my test results. I’ll only have time to “be”.

You don’t get those kinds of opportunities that often, Sage. So I’ll understand if you choose to do something completely selfish and extreme when you’re older. Do everything you can to squeeze life by the balls and make it scream in your face. You scream back, dammit! And for just that moment feel like you can control your fate.

So this part sucks. I can’t find a pen and have to type! 4 women in a tiny cabin, no bath, all with varying thermal temps and everyone but me trying to sleep. I want to write. Damn! Where’s that pen?
The light tapping of keys sounds more like footsteps in this dark silence. I’m exhausted yet inspired to write. I came on FD so I could have just one time in my life where a trip was for me- not work, not family- and just languish in it. But then there’s the part of me that can’t help but document this experience. I’ll say it’s for Sage. So one day she’ll understand why I left her alone with Daddy for a week while I went whitewater kayaking in Montana.

A year ago today, I was sitting on the roof of Ryan’s car, watching the Park City fireworks and wondering what having cancer means to me. At that time I had no idea what stage I was, what my treatment would be, whether I would see my daughter grow up. I was numb. I watched the lights in the sky and blanked out. I told myself not to think about it because there was nothing I could do over the holiday. On July 5, however, the wheels burned rubber. Like a leopard focused on his prey, I pounced on this cancer thing. I stopped contemplating a future (or better stressing about one) to deal with the here and now. The summer swirled down the drain- flushed like bad poopy as Sage would say.

One year later, I’m here, I’m strong, I’m ‘surviving’ and I’m about to punish myself in freezing waters for five straight days in the woods. First Descents out of Boulder, Colo., is a non-profit org that puts on something like 15 adventure camps a year for cancer survivors. Idaho, Jackson, Washington, Colorado, Montana, Utah. Rugged places if you’re up for a challenge.

My only luxury is Internet. We have to walk 5 minutes to the showers and toilets. There’s no running water nearby and no TV. It reminds me of my eight grade retreat to Yosemite.

Just yesterday I was bombarded by high-tech gadgetry. I had an MRI yesterday. The experience sucked. That’s about right. Took two nurses, several shrieks and three tries to get the IV in. An hour and 40 minutes later, both boobs were scanned and I was dressed and out the revolving door. I won’t have the results until Tuesday or Wednesday; I see my doctor a week after that. Will I be back at square one, don’t pass GO, Don’t collect $200 or will I be able to relax and feel like I’ve poked my head out of the woods? In other words, will I have to repeat last summer or not?

In a way, this trip is my last week before the news. Like a deathrow inmate getting his last meal….Or it’s a celebration of the new – I can’t say ‘me’ because I’m the same me only a little less cocky and a lot less immortal- so I’ll say it will be my homecoming. My new year; my Cancerversary. Please let it be this and not the former! All of us here – at this First Descents Camp – have some form of cancer. No one talks about cancer here. Not yet anyway. Not on our first day. Maybe we never will. This is emotional therapy by way of the physical. We get to kick our butts on the river, feel strong and come home with skills. We don’t need to deal with cancer this week. We have better things to do.

One year ago today, I wondered how my life would look. Today, I’m still wondering. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be stuffed into a plastic torpedo, forced to roll it over and swim in water only penguins appreciate. I won’t have time to think about the good or the bad of my test results. I’ll only have time to “be”.

You don’t get those kinds of opportunities that often, Sage. So I’ll understand if you choose to do something completely selfish and extreme when you’re older. Leave me alone for a week with your Daddy and do everything you can to squeeze life by the balls and make it scream in your face. You scream back, dammit! And for just that moment feel like you can control your fate.