Well, I did it. Not real sure of my official time--somewhere in the 2:50 range--but that didn't really matter. I covered 13.1 miles on my feet, and finished standing up. (UPDATE: My o-fish-ul time was 2:52.) And, as you can see, I have photographic evidence. (As a side note: does it look to you like I'm screwing on a prosthetic arm in this photo? It does to me.)

Then I went home, crawled into a fetal position, and fell into a coma for an hour. (Okay, more of a nap, but it felt like a coma.)

After that, buoyed by the smell of cooking ribs, I rose to a wonderful barbecue attended by more than 40 friends and family. I'm a little verklempt as I sit here writing this.

The verklemptitude started about two miles into the race, when I passed a hand-lettered sign posted there by my lovely wife and lovely daughter: "Go, TL Hines! Run! Run! Kick it!"

I appreciated that because they branded my author name of TL Hines to some 1000 runners and potential book buyers.

Okay, I'm just kidding. I appreciated that because--well, how could you not appreciate that? Along the way, they placed five other signs--all bright green--encouraging me along the way. It became something that helped me get through the race, looking for those signs. And then, when I got to the end of the race, my whole extended family (wife, daughter, parents, in-laws, nephews) stood there holding signs.

Good thing it was raining, because the rain helped me protect my real-man-who-doesn't-cry credibility.

Some great folks from the "Billings Gazette" came out and did a story on me; I'll post it when it goes live online. (UPDATE: Here it is--story AND video of me in a wet tee shirt: http://is.gd/3xf4M.)

As has recently been pointed out, it's been quite some time since I updated this site. But really, that's a good sign, isn't it? It means lymphoma isn't the top thing on my mind each and every day. (And believe me, there were a lot of days it was the one and only thing on my mind. If you're newly diagnosed, or know someone who has been, you'll probably give me an amen.)

These days, the thing that's been occupying my mind (other than my next novel, which I'm once again late handing in--but that's another subject) is running.

I think my last update was a post after my earlier 5K. Well, in May, I headed to Spokane for the big Bloomsday Run, where I and 50,000 of my closest friends ran 7.6 miles. I finished in 1:31:15, which was actually pretty fast for me, and I felt good at the finish line.

Which brings me to this week, a few months later. The big race, the half-marathon at the Montana Governor's Cup, looms this Sunday. That's 13.1 miles.

Bad omen #1: On my last "long" run about a week ago, I went 12 miles...but started getting some pretty bad cramps in my right foot at about mile 10.5--so I was doing the Igor Shuffle for about a mile. It wasn't fun.

Bad omen #2: I rarely get sick. Probably once every few years, to tell you the truth. And yet, as of last Sunday, I felt a head cold coming on. This morning--five days before the race--it's moved into my chest, and I've got a bit of a cough going. I'm hoping I still have time to recover (the fact that the cold moved from my sinuses to my chest in just a couple of days seems a good sign to me), but suffice to say I'm now terrified that I'll be trying to run a 13.1 mile race with constant foot cramps, congested lungs (I kinda need those for breathing), and a chronic hack.

Of course, if you know me, you'll realize that's just the eternal worrier finding things to obsess over, but really. A cold? The week before a race I've been training to run since, oh, last November? Let's just say I ain't happy about it.

But those are all the transient things, the things that occupy my slight obsessive compulsive tendencies. When I find myself starting to worry about such things, I remember why this race is such an important personal milestone for me.

It's a remembrance of people I've met along the way who have lost their battle with cancer...and I'm sorry to say there have been more than a few. People whose stories have helped me, or inspired me, or touched me in some way. I'll be writing their names on a piece of paper to carry with me, just as a reminder: McKenna, Shane, Mel, Shannon, Deirdre, Jan, Sarah, Leni.

It's a symbolic personal accomplishment for me: something I've never done before, something I never would have dreamed to do, something, truth be told, I would have detested. So in many ways, running a half-marathon, and getting to a point where I enjoy running, are symbolic of the transformation I've been through after lymphoma. Certainly, lymphoma changed my life for the worse. But in some ways--ways such as this--it's had a positive impact on my life. So it's not only symbolic of the long road of diagnosis and treatment, but also discovery and growth.

Just as long as I can get through it without hacking up a lung.