Celebrating the Life of Vince DiCroce

Due to news I received yesterday, I decided to take a short break from the travel blog and reflect on the life of a friend. I wrote this yesterday, but wanted another day to reflect before posting it. The rest of the Salkantay Trail hike will appear in the next day or two.

I am profoundly sad today. For the past 10 years, my friend Vince DiCroce has been battling brain cancer. We all knew this day would ultimately come, but Vince beat the odds so often over the years that I hoped beyond hope that he would do the unimaginable yet again and beat an unbeatable disease.

I have written about Vince on this blog in the past, and his own blog about fighting a terminal illness was beautifully heart wrenching and always inspiring.

Vince was a man who was seemingly always smiling, even when he clearly hurt, and he was the type of man who made me smile every time I saw him.

In 2004, Vince was diagnosed with brain cancer, and he knew it would one day take his life. However, instead of dwelling on the unfairness of the situation, Vince rededicated himself to getting everything possible out of his time left. If you didn’t know about his condition, you would never have fathomed that this man was anything other than invincible.

One of my proudest moments in running was during the 2007 Tucson Marathon. At Mile 14, I passed Vince for the first and only time in any race. Granted, he was stopping in a port-a-john at the time. I ended up with a finish time of 3:28, still my personal best. Vince ran a 3:24. He beat me even with a stop halfway through. There was really never a doubt that he would, and I was good with it as he smiled and cheered me on as he went flying back by me late in the race.

During the past 10 years, Vince completed 29 marathons and seven Ironman competitions. One of those marathons was a personal best 3:03 at Richmond in November 2012.

I saw Vince at a Runner’s Edge of the Rockies run the following week and asked how he did. He said he set a PR and was pleased with the race. I was ecstatic for him. I’d seen all the hard work he put into his training in order to make himself the best possible competitor he could, and his dedication had really paid off.

Vince seemed pleased as he spoke to me that morning, but he just didn’t seem as happy as I thought he should have. I brushed it off as being early in the morning or maybe he had really wanted that elusive sub-3:00 race and just missed it.

Later I found out that Vince had gone to a doctor’s appointment a few days after that race. Although he felt like he was in the best shape of his life and had defied the odds with his brain tumor, Vince received news that day that the cancer was back.

Just like before, Vince did not let it slow him down. He went through rough stretches of chemo treatments and various ailments, but Vince kept going.

He showed up on Saturday morning group runs. Sometimes he looked like he was struggling, but most times he showed signs of his former self, flying past other runners and tossing out words of encouragement as he went.

Last May, he said he might try to run the Colfax Half Marathon. Instead he ran the full 26.2 miles, crossing the finish line at 3:56. It was nothing short of amazing.

The view from my bus literally changed
from thick fog to sunshine the moment
that I heard Vince was no longer suffering. 

Today, the cancer finally got Vince DiCroce. I was on a bus in the middle of Ecuador when I got the text message. The entire ride had been foggy and cloudy and generally dreary up to that point.

I’d known Vince had been in the hospital, and the doctors had said he would likely not last more than a day or two. When I got the text, I was crushed. But I also noticed something strange happened at literally that exact same moment. The sun broke through the clouds and showed the incredible scenery of the Andes all around us.

I’m not sure what you believe happens after someone leaves this life, but I am positive Vince was checking in on what I was doing at that moment, and he was smiling. His pain was finally gone, and he no longer had to fight the beast that was his brain tumor.

My own summer of exploration was sparked by the realization that I needed a change in my career and a revitalization of my passion for life.

Vince taught me many things during the miles I ran with him, the meals I ate with him and the beers I drank with him. But the one lesson that always jumps out when I think of Vince is that we should never let an opportunity pass us by.

Vince lived his life with determination, kindness, humor and a million other qualities that drew people to him.  

I am utterly thankful to Vince for his friendship and all the lessons he taught me.

I will miss you, my friend.

And to you readers, please take a moment tonight to look around and be thankful for all the blessings in your life, and raise a glass to Vince and all the good he did in this world. 

InVinceable

This blog has taken awhile. I've started and stopped several times. I wasn’t even sure I should write it because I feel like it’s not my story to write.

But the more people that learn about Vince DiCroce (visit http://andsoitbeginsagain.com to read his blog – and you should read his blog) and his courageous battle brain cancer, the more his story and his fight can inspire people like it has inspired me.

Vince had pacers for the race, but I'm pretty sure
he paced them more than the other way around.

I met Vince in 2006 when I first started with Runners Edge of the Rockies. He was fast, much faster than me. Sometimes he slowed down enough for me to run a mile or two with him, and he always had time to talk after runs for guidance or motivation.

At the time, I had never run a marathon. In fact, I don’t think I had run more than about seven miles.

Vince had run dozens of marathons, and soon after I met him, he completed his first of seven Ironman competitions. I didn’t know it at the time, but 29 of Vince’s marathons and all of his Ironman triathlons have come since he was diagnosed with brain cancer in 2004.

He never mentioned it to me, and clearly he did not let it define him. Over time, the tumor shrunk, and so did Vince’s race times.

Last November, Vince set a PR in every race he ran, including a blistering 3:03 at the Richmond Marathon.

But three days later, during a physical, doctors discovered that the tumors had returned. I’m not going to go into detail because he does so very well in his own blog, http://andsoitbeginsagain.com, which I highly recommend reading and following.

Vince writes very well about the biggest battle of his life. He wrote, “My friends in my running group (Runners Edge of the Rockies) are still in disbelief about the 3:03 and wondering how soon I will break that 3:00 barrier. Soon enough they will know that I am not Superman.”

Superman is the appropriate descriptor for Vince.

Many of us were shocked to learn about the diagnosis, but few of us were surprised to see Vince back out with us cranking out miles on Saturday mornings after he finished his first round of radiation.

Someone started a “Run with Vince” program, meant to encourage people to run a distance in the Colfax Marathon that was beyond their comfort zones. You know, if Vince can sign up for his first Ironman before he had ever done a triathlon of any distance, surely other people could go out and run a 10-miler, half marathon or even a marathon.

As the weeks went by earlier this year, I was fortunate to run with Vince three or four times during Saturday morning training runs, and it wasn’t long before I started questioning whether I could keep up with him.

I asked if he was planning to run any part of the Colfax Marathon, and he said he was thinking about doing the half. I encouraged him, but I had a sneaking suspicion he would not be running that race.

Vince (third from left) inspired a new look for a lot of members

of Runners Edge of the Rockies. This is a few of them.

By that time, about 200 of us had acquired “InVinceable” shirts to wear in support of Vince, and several of us shaved our heads to join Vince in his current look.

A few days before the race, I saw Vince at a party, and he confirmed what I had suspected.

He wasn’t going to run the half. He was going to run the full 26.2 miles, just like his wife and daughter, who both committed to run their first marathons.

On May 19, Vince and seven InVinceables crossed the finish line in 3:56. While it wasn’t the 3:03 he ran six months before, it was one of the most remarkable accomplishments I have ever witnessed. In sports or in life.

Vince may have written that he’s not Superman. I’m still not convinced.

The Inspiration of Lacey Henderson

I decided to take a break from my rundowns of past marathons. With the Paralympics starting this week in London, the story of a young woman who is far more awesome and inspiring than I am seemed like a good choice. Of course, you still have to suffer through my own ramblings before you get to her story.

Recaps of Mobile, Nashville, Deadwood and Missoula will be coming in the next few weeks.  

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Front row, center seems like the perfect spot for
a mediocre runner/future captain of the "C" Team.
The number of people in this picture that mopped up
the track with me is far larger than those that I beat.

During my high school cross country season in 1991, I didn’t feel quite right. My left leg throbbed, just below the knee, for several days in a row. My coach, Karl Englund, looked at me and said, “Kennedy, is it pain or is it an injury?”

I looked back at him with a quizzical look. He explained, “Pain is something you can run through without making it worse. An injury is something that can get worse if you try to keep going.”

I admitted that I had no idea, but I knew it didn’t feel normal. Finally, a few days before my 16^th birthday, I went to the doctor’s office for x-rays. Dr. Jon Browne, one of the best sports doctors in the nation and a close friend of our family, came back in the room carrying the x-rays.

“Here’s the deal, Mike,” Dr. Browne said. “You have a benign tumor in your left tibia.”

For the next 27 minutes – it was probably 2.7 seconds – I desperately tried to remember whether “benign” meant cancerous or not. When you’re in a situation like that, things don’t make sense. At least they didn’t for me.

“It’s a strange one,” Dr. Browne continued. “Usually, a tumor is a growth, but yours is more like a hole, high in your shin bone. Take a look at the x-ray. Your shin is being held together by less than a quarter of an inch of bone. You could have shattered it by just walking down the street. I don’t know how it stayed in one piece while you were running.”

A week later, I was riding in the backseat to Omaha, and my parents talking in the front seat. I remember staying quiet. Dr. Browne was pretty certain it was not cancerous, but we decided we needed a second opinion, and the best bone doctor in the region was in Nebraska.

The doctor confirmed Dr. Browne’s diagnosis after what seemed like the longest day of all time, getting test after test after CAT scan after MRI in the hospital. During the ride home, my mom tried to talk to me, but I remember asking if we could just turn on the World Series. The Twins were taking on the Braves in Game 3, and I wanted to stop thinking for a while.

My emotions were mixed. I was happy that it wasn’t cancer, but at the same time I knew I was going to go through a fairly significant recovery period.

But I was lucky. The doctors told me that I needed to stay off it for a few weeks. Ultimately the bone would fill in on its own. My dad was a surgeon for more than 30 years, and he’s still baffled by the thought that it could heal itself.

It was a low point in my life, but I rarely think about it. Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. But when you hear “tumor,” especially when you’re a naïve teenager, it seems terrible. I think deep down, I try to put it out of my mind and just forget about it.

Sometimes, though, the memory hits me like a ton of bricks.

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Lacey beating a two-legged
opponent for the first time.

About a month ago, I was interviewing Lacey Henderson, a former DU cheerleader, for a story I was writing for DU’s website.

On May 19, 1999, Lacey went to the doctor, just like I did. And, just like I did, she had a tumor in her tibia, just below the knee with concern that it might be in her knee. But, while my doctor said the word “benign,” Lacey’s doctor diagnosed her with a soft tissue cancer called synovial sarcoma.

“It’s a super rare form of cancer, and there’s not really a survival rate,” Lacey told me, flashing me a smile.

After four months of chemotherapy, the doctors called Lacey and her parents into an office and told them that the only chance for survival was to amputate the leg above the knee.

Lacey looked at her parents and stoically said, “Let’s do it.”

She was nine years old.

I don’t know Lacey very well, but I’ve always enjoyed talking to her. Her love of life is contagious. She never tried to hide her leg. While cheering during DU basketball games, she even put bumper stickers on her prosthetic, drawing attention to the leg and the causes she believed in.

Of all the many things that Lacey does well, her courage, confidence and belief in herself and her abilities are at the top of the list.

People should not even think about feeling sorry for her. There’s no reason to.

“People think it’s funny that I joke about it, but I have amazing parking. I don’t have to pay for that meter out there. Are you kidding me?” Lacey told me, beaming with a mischievous yet genuine smile. “I’ve met incredible people, and it’s made me enjoy life so much more.”

Lacey was always active. She was a gymnast before the amputation, and she wasn’t about to stop because of it. She was a high school cheerleader, and when she went to DU, she went out for the team, knowing she’d make it. Why wouldn’t she? She was damn good at it. Her high school team competed nationally, and Lacey was a big part of that success. She had all the confidence she needed – and deserved

(Photo by Rich Clarkson
& Associates)

The summer before she graduated from DU, Lacey was sitting around after a Labor Day party, having a drink with her dad, T.J. Back in the day, T.J. went to the Olympic trials for pole vaulting, and he became a well respected pole vaulting coach over the next few decades, including a few stints at the Olympics with “obscure countries,” according to Lacey.

T.J. looked at his daughter and said something like, “You did well in cheerleading, but you know you could never become a pole vaulter. You don’t have the speed.”

Make no mistake. Lacey’s dad knew about his daughter’s competitiveness, but he has never given Lacey an out just because she was working with a different kind of leg.

“Please. I was a gymnast. I can do anything I want,” Lacey told him. “Who needs speed when you have strength?”

T.J.’s friend and former Northern Colorado coach Mike Mattivi was at the table with them. “I’ll coach you,” Mike told her with a shrug. “Just show up on the track, and we’ll figure it out.”

They had to figure it out because no above-knee amputee was known to have done it. The Paralympics don’t offer the event. Do a search on Google. What you’ll find are reasons why it can’t happen.

Guess what. Lacey didn’t bother checking Google.

Oh, and you know those technologically advanced prosthetics that you saw Oscar Pistorius courageously use in the Olympic 400 meters?

Lacey is hoping the Paralympics
add pole vaulting.

Lacey used one of her old legs that was designed to look natural. Because she didn’t have a racing leg and didn’t want to damager her good one.

“There are a couple of things that are frowned upon and you shouldn’t be doing in (the leg I used),” Lacey said. “Pole vaulting isn’t mentioned, but it’s probably one of those things.”

She started clearing the bar. And that proved her dad wrong, which was the point originally. But then she realized she was having fun. She had cleared about 7.5 feet.

Lacey wanted to compete. Since there were no other amputee competitors, Lacey started entering open master’s meets and competing against able-bodied athletes. She held her own.

But Lacey wanted more. She was fitted for a running leg and started training, running on the track and trying to gain speed and strength. At first, she struggled just running for five minutes.

As she was doing her training sprints, she realized something. She was pretty fast, too. In fact, she was pretty close to the qualifying times for the Paralympics.

Lacey lined up at the Colorado State Championships on May 19, 2011, about eight months after she went to the track to begin her training. She entered her first 100-meter race. It was 12 years to the day since doctors amputated her right leg, an anniversary that used to leave Lacey stressed.

Lacey ignored the stress and ran a qualifying time for the London Paralympics trials. In the first race she ever ran.

A year later, again on May 19, Lacey lined up against a group that included Paralympic hopefuls and able-bodied runners.

Lacey Henderson during her tenure as a DU cheerleader.
(Photo by Rich Clarkson & Associates)

“I was running against a girl with two legs, and we were right up beside each other. I was pushing, and I knew she was pushing, but I was thinking, ‘I better beat you,’” Lacey said. “Right at the end, I did the chest finish and I’d finally beat someone with two legs. It was a cool feeling for sure. I’ve beaten a couple of other CP athletes, but that was like a real person.”

That date – May 19 – used to cause anguish for Lacey, but now she has run a couple of successful races the last two years, she now feels what she calls “this sort of Zen” on that day.

Lacey was sick when she went to Trials this year, and she knew her chances of making the team for London were slim. Officials ended up averaging each runner’s best time from the previous two years. Lacey, of course, had not even been running that long.

She was beaten out by the American record holder, Katy Sullivan, but right after the race the coaches approached Lacey to discuss next year’s World Championships in Lyon, France.

“It’s definitely not over for me,” Lacey wrote in an email after the Trials. “I’m back to training and getting ready for next year’s Nationals, where I can hopefully also be exhibiting the pole vault. Many more exciting things to come!”

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Twenty years ago, I considered myself lucky. I limped away from a doctor’s office with nothing lost but a few months of running around being an irresponsible high school kid.

Had things have gone a different way, I wish I was confident that I would have been even half as positive as Lacey Henderson.

I would like to think that at some point I would have rebounded and made the most of it. Lacey, on the other hand, went well beyond that.

While watching Oscar Pistorius make the semifinals of the Olympic 400 meters, Lacey summed up her attitude and her life in a Tweet (@lacesyourfriend):

“The human spirit is truly capable of extraordinary things. Couldn't be more proud of @OscarPistorius. Losing my leg was the best blessing.”