Unlike running, road riding, or even riding on packed trails, mountain biking demands mental effort as much as physical. While riding a twisty, rocky, trail — especially one with lots of steep drops — you have to constantly think of the best way to ride through. A mistake and you could very quickly be embracing the ground. (That’s about the time I say “I’m really getting too old for this sh*t..”)

When I come across a particularly terrifying obstacle, I will often believe that it can’t be ridden. I will slow to a crawl or get off the bike and walk around. But ironically, this is the worst thing you can do. Because riding slow through this stuff is an invitation to disaster and getting off destroys your confidence and makes tackling the next obstacle that much harder.

No, the key is to follow four simple words. The best I have ever ridden have been the times I have been behind Lawrence and he yells them out to me. The four words? “Ride Right Over It.”

You see, today’s mountain bikes are more advanced that today’s mountain bikers. They can handle all sorts of terrain that one might assume cannot be ridden. If you just convince yourself not to panic you will find that you can “ride right over” almost anything. But if you do panic and start to worry about what could happen, you are setting yourself up for a world of hurt.

Sometimes Stella and I face a “rocky patch.” She would be an excellent mountain biker. She just tells me “Don’t worry. It will pass.” Sort of the same as “ride right over it.” And time and time again, she has been 100 percent correct. Perhaps by not dwelling on the difficult times, she gets through them that much quicker.

I, on the other hand, worry a lot. In the same way that I will look at a segment of trail and panic, I can over-think when she is having a rough time and not “ride right over it.” But that makes it so much harder to get through.

I really need to learn to take my own advice more often.

And there is one other key to mountain biking. When you ride off-road, you will fall. It’s part of the sport. There is no way if you ride mountain bike trails, you can guarantee you will not fall.

But what you have to do is just get back up, dust yourself off and get back on the bike. You can show your bruises to your buddies and tell the stories later. But the first thing is to get back in the saddle and continue on your journey.

And that’s what Stella and I are doing. And it’s why I am always in awe of her. Because she does not let a fall here of there get her down for long. If she has a bad day, she is 100 percent confident that the next day will be better.

And you know something? She has always been right.

Don’t sweat what you see coming down the trail. Just ride right over it and get ready for the next obstacle.

Chag Sameach. Enjoy the cheesecake.

Yarden Frankl, Neve Daniel

The marathon is the Olympics for the ordinary person. The ordinary person doing an extraordinary thing. A sporting event in which complete amateurs can take their position on the starting line alongside world class athletes. A sporting event where the majority of participants, the vast majority, are competing not to win, but to prove to themselves what they are capable of.

Anyone reading this can complete a marathon. Really. Train for about four or five months, and if you are mentally dedicated to completing a marathon, you will do so.

No, it’s not easy. Not at all. It will take running when you don’t feel like it, running in bad weather, running with aches and pains and blisters. But the one thing it does not require is innate, natural ability. You will never throw a ball for the Ravens or the Yankees. You will not win an Olympic Gold Medal in anything, not even synchronized swimming. But you CAN finish a marathon if you are determined enough.

At some point during the marathon, your body has had enough. It is at this point — whether at 20 or 30 or 40 kilometers where finishing all depends on your mind. It is no longer a physical challenge, it is a mental one. And when you cross that finish line, you will remember doing so all your life.

With a smile.

That’s what makes a marathon so special. Finishing is an act more of courage than of physical ability. Courage not to give in when your body says “enough.” Courage to forget the office, the supermarket, the errands that dominate our lives. Courage to be that elite athlete for a few hours.

There is no feeling in the world like stepping across that finish line. You did it. Someone will drape a finisher’s medallion around your neck and you will treat it like a gold medal. You give a tired but proud smile to everyone else stepping over that line. You are now part of a special community.

I have seen children run and greet fathers and mothers and run over the finish line with them, eyes brimming with pride. Everyone who crosses that line receives a hearty cheer from friends and strangers and fellow runners. There is no feeling like it.

I can think of no act more cowardly then building a bomb, loading it with ball bearings to cause the greatest harm, hiding it at the finish line of a marathon and then scurrying away with tail between legs. Seconds after hugging his dad at the finish line, a young boy was killed by the bomber. Oh, it was for a cause? Yeah right. No cause on the planet justifies this act.

Can you imagine how this boy’s father must have felt. To be hugged by his son at one of his greatest accomplishments and then losing him a few seconds later. (His other daughter lost a leg and his wife is currently in critical condition.)

Every runner in Boston, every single one, every marathon runner anywhere has more courage in their smallest toenail than the bomber’s whole body. Not even close.

I wish I could stop watching the videos and reading the accounts.

But I can’t.

I’ve been there. I know the emotions of finishing a marathon. I know how incredibly special that finish line is. I look at the faces of the Boston runners and see my own and my friends’. I see the picture of the little boy and think of my youngest when I come home from a race, always asking for the finisher’s medallion.

The marathon is nothing more than a celebration of life. And now a cowardly rat has made it something dark.

They will catch this bastard. He will most likely spout some garbage about whatever sick cause motivated him to murder people, and to murder hope. And then I hope they put him on a treadmill and make him run for hours or maybe years. Because unlike a marathon runner, when his body gives out, he has no courage to rely on.

As a runner and as a human being, two things that do not apply to the pig behind this barbaric act, my heart goes out to all those in Boston. And I am sure I will always have you in my thoughts when I run.

Martin, Krystle, Lu — You will always be counted among the heroes of running.

Yarden Frankl, Israel

Last night’s CT scan showed dramatic improvement. The cancer has shrunk significantly. Our Doc texted me a thumb’s up icon. (He is a man of few words. But we don’t mind the picture.)

This morning in shul it felt like Yom Kippur. Fourth time this year. I knew that during the minyan — at the same exact time — they were going over the scan results at Share Zedek.

While we have had periods where we felt there would be good news, I have to admit at other times, I was not sure. But those were really guesses. We know that we have to have a scan for them to determine exactly what’s going on. And the last one was not so good.

But not this one. The aggressive chemo, the armored Brigade, seems to be winning the war.

Of course today of all days, we in Israel fully comprehend that the war is never truly over. We must continue to do what needs to be done. The survival of our nation depends on it.

We must still continue with the chemo treatments and all the other yuckiness. We do not know what this news really means in the long run. We will get more details in a few days at our next chemo treatment.

BUT — we will take this step foreword. And smile.

——

I participated in a very special race on Friday. Only one of its kind in Israel. It’s called an “Ultra-Duathalon.” It starts with a 21 kilometer run over some very difficult terrain. Then, you jump on your mountain bike and ride 46 kilometers over even more difficult terrain. It was definitely one of the hardest events that I have had the fortune to participate in.

I had a great time and did very well in the run. I was one of the first on the bikes. About 5 kilometers into the bike section, we got to a short and very steep climb. Going up, I felt a tremendous muscle cramp in my calf. It was so painful, I slid off the bike and just lay on the ground while other riders passed me.

After a few minutes, a guy who seemed to know what he is doing stopped to help. He stretched out my leg. When I felt I could ride again, I thanked him and tried getting back on.

Seriously, I wondered if I should stop.

But I thought of Stella and didn’t.

Stella can’t stop her Ultra. She has steps forward and steps back. I know that sometimes she feels overwhelmed. I am truly amazed at how tough she is and how she deals with the not so good times. She is my inspiration whenever anything seems too tough.

So many cancer patients end up giving up mentally. I can understand. It is hard for me to go to the hospital week after week, and I’m not the one hooked up to the chemo.

All of us encounter things in life that seem too difficult to do. Most of us bitch and moan when things don’t go our way. “Oh no,” the idiot lying on the ground next to his bike cries out. “People will pass me! I won’t be able to finish the race because my leg hurts. Woe is me!!!!”

We convince ourselves that what is only difficult is actually impossible.

And then we have an excuse not to do it.

Most of us are all too willing to accept the part of us that is ready to give up.

Stella has gone through twenty-six chemo treatments. I have lost count of the scans, blood tests, injections, and so forth. She has heard very pessimistic prognosis. Too many times she feels sick. Our calendar is filled with not so fun days at the hospital.

And yet. She can still smile.

Whenever you feel like giving up on something because it’s just too damn hard, think of Stella. And then whatever you have to do will seem as easy as getting back on a bike.

If Stella can still smile, I think we can too.

What do you say?

(P.S. I did get back on and finish the race in 6th place!)

The plan had been to run ten kilometers with Chaim Wizman as he started the insane Y’m L Yam ultra marathon. I would run ten with him then say good-bye and run back to my car. A twenty kilometer run is a good solid workout. No need to go further, especially that the marathon season is behind us.

When I woke up around four in the morning I could hear the Neve Daniel wind raging outside. It was cold and raining.  I debated whether I should even get out of bed. But I had told Chaim the night before that I would run with him and didn’t want to leave him hanging. Plus, he would be at it for 6 or 7 hours. I was going to be done by 8:00. I was going to eat a hot breakfast. I couldn’t really complain.

So way before dawn I jumped in the car and headed for Modi’in. I had none of the usual stress that always accompanies me before a race. Because I wasn’t going to race. I was just going out for a jog. Maybe I would even walk back to the car and make it more of a hike than a run. Why not?

Chaim, on the other hand, was registered for the competitive race. While I was hanging out in the dark, he drove up for the 6:00 AM start at about 5:59. By the time we got to the start line, everyone else had already begun the epic run. Chaim and another friend were actually pinning their numbers on while running. I know what it’s like to come late for a race so I didn’t envy them. And as far as I was concerned, we could have started an hour after everyone else. I was just going for a friendly jog.

We started running the first twelve kilometer segment and at one point Chaim said to me that I was — in fact — going to run the whole race with him. Ha! I laughed. What a joker. How dumb did he think I was! I would be taking a nice hot shower by the time he was not even halfway through. What a sucker.

But then….. then…… I started to think. (Usually a dangerous thing for me.)

Maybe I would run just a bit more. I mean, I saw so many people who were going to run this insane distance. Chaim and I were having a good time, the trail was fun, and it felt really good to be outside.

But if I ran a lot more, how would I get back to my car?  I could always get a ride with Chaim’s wife from Tel Aviv back to Modi’in. The only flaw with that plan was I would have to get to Tel Aviv.

Of course Chaim knew what he was doing. I love that his description of me is “One who needs only the gentlest of prodding to be convinced to do something insane.”

So at twelve kilometers, I called Stella and asked if she would mind if I came home shortly before shabbat most likely unable to walk or string two sentences together. Compared to what she has been through, I didn’t think she would be that worried that it would be too tough. We have both decided that “too tough” is always subjective, and if you want to do something, you do it. She just wanted to make sure that I would not be alone.

No problem.

So with her approval I told Chaim that I was in. I got excited at the prospect.

And then it started to rain.

Hard.

Honestly, I was not feeling my best at twenty kilometers. I was soaking wet and freezing. But I was with Chaim and Eran, a friendly guy who I had just met. So we laughed off the circumstances and kept going.

The segment of the trail after Shoham is quite technical. It is a mountain bike single and the kind that I would usually get off my bike and walk down. You could not get a running rhythm because you were constantly scrambling up and down rocks and afraid that one small slip would spell disaster.

But eventually the trail opened up and Chaim did what he does best — ran fast.

By the time we hit thirty kilometers, we had stopped passing people. Because most of them were behind us. We both agreed that we should slow down and run a smarter pace.

And then we kept running way too fast.

After a few more kilometers, the wind kicked up, always pushing against us. We could not really take advantage of the fact that we were in flatter territory because the headwind made it feel like we were always running uphill.

At every rest stop (around every 10K,) we would take 2-3 minutes and force ourselves to drink really disgusting energy drink and gels. We also filled up a bottle we were carrying and promised each other that we would continue drinking between the rest stations. Dehydration is a runner’s worst nightmare (well, one of them at least.) But carrying a bottle while running, especially one that is covered in sticky goo is not much fun.

So Chaim says, ‘let’s play a game.” I was excited at the prospect because it was just not fun to think about how much further we still had to go. A “game” might make the kilometers go by quicker. So here were the rules of the “game:”

I would carry the bottle for two kilometers. Then he would carry it for two. And so on.

Now isn’t that a great “game?”

At 45 kilometers, they told us that the finish was another 20. Now the race had been advertised as a 60 kilometer run. And even though our brains were a bit addled after being in the sun so long, we knew that 45 plus 20 had to equal more than 60. I did the only thing I could think of. I told Chaim they were lying. We would finish at 60 as planned.

The next 10K we had to cross the Yarkon river a few times. That’s right. Running through cold water and into mud on the other side! Why not indeed?

We started giving ourselves goals. We would try and run two kilometers and then we would give ourselves a 200 meter walking break. As time went by, the running segments got shorter and the walking breaks got longer. But we kept plugging away.

At one point Chaim started having some painful muscle spasms. Not to be outdone, I tripped over a rock and fell in a giant mud patch. Hey, if you are going to run an ultra, you should at least look like you’ve been through hell.

At 55 kilometers, Dror Ben Ami from the club met us to pace us to the finish. He gave us water and gels and kept up a running stream of commentary to keep us moving. It was a very sophisticated conversation:

Dror: O.K. guys, great pace. One foot in front of the other. You’re doing fantastic.

Me: eh……..eh…….oh….oh

Chaim: ow….eh….oh…eh..

Dror: Just a few more. Keep it up. You’re doing great.

(Repeat about ten thousand times.)

There was one more rest stop around 58 kilometers. We shoved all sorts of things in our mouths. Most of which tasted nasty.

We reached 60, and I had to admit that maybe the race officials had actually, eh, NOT, been lying.

Dror runs in Tel Aviv and so he knew every landmark over those last 5 kilometers. He would tell us “300 meters until the lake, 400 meters until the big tree,” and so forth.

Of course neither one of us was able to comprehend these detailed directions. We kept asking him again and again how much longer.

“ARE WE THERE YET????   ARE WE??? ARE WE????”

(O.k. kids, I know what it’s like.)

And then, all of a sudden, just 6 and a half short hours after we had started, there was the finish.

We stepped over the line, stopped running, and hugged. As an added bonus, we were told that out of the roughly 60 runners who had started, only 2 had finished ahead of us.

I have done lots of runs in the last few years. Marathons, trail runs, a duathalon, and a tri.

But nothing was so amazing, so much fun, and so beautiful as this race. The description above may make this race sound difficult. Yeah, it was. But I’ll tell you something. I made the right decision to go for it.

As odd as it sounds, running to me is NOT a solitary sport. As in everything else in life, when we are together — helping others and being helped — we can do more than we ever dreamed.

And if you think that running 65 kilometers is insane, there was a second option. Thirty runners set out the night before to run 124 kilometers, including our friend Rael (who I have heard not only finished fourth overall, but, to the best of my knowledge, is still alive.)

124 kilometers? That is absolutely nuts. Insane. Crazy.

No way would I EVER try and run that.

But if anyone wants to do it next year, I’ll run the first 10K with you.

Don’t even think of asking me to run more.  ;)

Yarden Frankl

NOTE: As a runner who has registered and competed in dozens of events, I am against people just jumping in to races and using the services of race organizers. In this case, after the fact, I will be paying for the race and gladly.

I devoured every e-mail from the Bet Shemesh running club and ran every training run at the precise pace that would enable me to hit my goal time in the big race. I was as obsessed and focused as a newly minted B’all Shuva throwing on a big black hat within months of giving up cheeseburgers. (Can’t explain. You either get this or you don’t.) I lived and breathed marathon training. At all sorts of ridiculous times I would go out running to make sure I was doing everything possible that would enable me to hit my goal time come race day.

Nothing was going to stop me running the race of my life. Nothing.

Except on the morning of the race, a heat wave hit. Our coach Chaim — with much experience under his belt — told us all to chuck our strategies, forget about our goal times, and run smart, not fast.

Well, I figured that was probably good advice for most people. But not for me. I had done all the training, what’s a little heat when you have spent four months analyzing every detail of the race?

So I ran at the pace I had trained for. I drank and ate what I had decided beforehand I would need. And I ran a great half marathon.

And then I crashed.

I spent twenty-one kilometers in utter misery.

I finished and collapsed and felt horrible all day.

But I learned. Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you had planned. Stuff happens that you can’t control.

But you can control what you do about it.

No one plans to get cancer.

You might not have thought out what you want to do every day of your life, but we all have hopes and dreams and plans. We work toward goals that we set for ourselves and believe that we can attain them all if we just do what we need to do.

But things can happen that make you have to change those plans and adjust your expectations.

Stella and I do not do all the things we used to. We have to think through our plans and decide what is possible. Certain things we may want to do, but are not always feasible.

Take a trip.  Attend a Bar Mitzvah. Walk the dog.

Sure, we could try to ignore the situation and pretend that everything is fine. But that would be like ignoring a heat wave during a marathon.

So instead, we both cherish much smaller moments. Taking a short walk, having a few close friends over, asking people who invite us for a Shabbat meal if they can bring the food and themselves to us instead.

Life changed on us. So we need to change our lives.

Just watching a little TV in bed together can be just as nice as going out to the movies. Bringing food from one of our favorite restaurants home can work just as well as taking the family out.

Today we are once again at the hospital for a chemo treatment. Yes, it will get nasty, but at least we can hang out together and read all the Facebook posts. And maybe before things get too bad I can make her laugh.

On Friday the weather is supposed to be incredibly hot for the Tel Aviv Marathon. One of the hottest days of the year. Hot enough to melt the most hardened marathon runners.

Of course I have every plan of running it. I may have to run slowly, drink three times as much water, and do all sorts of things that will slow me down.

But that’s ok. I have adjusted my expectations, My only plan is to do what I need to do to enjoy the moment.

And Stella and I will try not to miss what is no longer possible and instead focus on all the little things that now mean so much to us.

Yarden Frankl, Shaare Zedek Hospital, Jerusalem

You still feel the pride of running the big race, of getting through all the hard parts in one piece, and now you can relax. I do a few runs and bike rides just to loosen up and help heal any damage that occurred during the marathon.

I always feel I have a bit of a bounce in my step during recovery week.

Stella’s current chemo treatment is based on a three week cycle. She gets chemo on the first and second Monday. These two weeks she feels miserable.

BUT — On the third Monday, she gets to skip. That third week is her recovery week. It’s amazing the difference being off the chemo makes.

You and I generally expect that we will feel well. Sure, we can all get colds or the flu, or maybe even Strep throat or something more exotic. BUT, we certainly don’t expect to be sick for two-thirds of the time.

Think about the last time you had a really bad case of the flu. How long did it last? Two days? Maybe three? Maybe a week? And then you were fine for the next few months.

But for how much of the time that we are not sick do we really value feeling well?

The other day, Stella said how wonderful it felt not to feel sick. Between the nauseousness and the fatigue, the two weeks of chemo could bring anyone down. But during her recovery week, Stella bounces back. Even a visit to the ER at the end of chemo week #2 did not stop her from feeling great 48 hours later.

Within two days of coming home from the ER, Stella was inviting Shabbat guests and starting to cook. One of my girls said at breakfast, “What’s with Mom. She made us like four dinners last night!”

Stella loves to cook and hates when she is to weak to do so.

And then there’s the French Toast.

Mounds of French Toast.

Mountains of French Toast.

I know Stella is feeling better when I come downstairs and she is French-Toastifying a loaf of sliced bread. Whether anyone can eat all that French Toast makes no difference. She likes to make it the same way I like to ride a bike. Without stopping.

Next week Stella begins another round of chemo. I will train for and run the Tel Aviv Marathon. We will have our hands full.

But for now, we’re going to enjoy the “time off.”

Shabbat Shalom,

Yarden Frankl, Neve Daniel, Israel

But that’s the situation. I hope by the time you read this we will be home safe and sound and today’s little adventure will be forgotten.

But let me back-up a few days.

On Friday I ran the Jerusalem Marathon. It was my third time running Jerusalem (which makes me three for three) and my eighth marathon overall. And it was my favorite.

These days, I can’t plan training seasons. I can’t commit to multi-month detailed plans that will culminate in a big race. I can’t do regular “speed workouts” with the club, and long runs are few and far between.

I run and bike when I can. I spend a lot of time on the treadmill. And stress eat my way through loads of junk food.

Not exactly a recipe for successful marathon racing.

I decided to run Jerusalem on the last day of registration. And I still wasn’t sure until Friday morning that I would actually do it. I consulted with Stella at 4:30 in the morning (the Frankls are vampires. We do NOT sleep.) When she assured me that she was fine, I grabbed my stuff and took off way before the sun had risen.

After parking, I made my way down to the staging area and changed and found some friends. Standing at the start line in the morning, shaking off the dawn chill, I was surprised just how emotional it was for me. Until I was standing there, I hadn’t realized just how happy it made me that I would be able to participate.

It was a wonderful break, a Hafsaka. A real chance to relax.

It may seem strange if you have read stories — including ones that I have written — about how hard it is to complete a marathon. But after the last year and a half that we have had, running a marathon just doesn’t seem that crazy anymore. Want hard? 23 chemo treatments, surgeries, blood tests ad neasueum (and I DO mean ad-nuseaum) now that’s hard. (Not to mention a surprise trip to the ER.)

Running around with a few thousand of your friends for the day? Not even in the same class.

I can honestly say that I enjoyed every minute of this race. I enjoyed every step. I did not stop smiling from the countdown at the start until I crossed the finish line.

Why? Did I suddenly forget about our struggle with cancer? Was I all consumed with myself that I didn’t think of Stella?

Absolutely not. I thought of Stella as I wore my Stella’s army wrist bands throughout the whole forty-two kilometers. But for some reason that I can’t explain, I was filled up with a sense of optimism, of shining hope, of “Yehi B’Seder.” (It will be all right.)

I started and ran with friends for awhile. That had been my plan for the race. Just sit in and make it a social thing. And that’s what it was at the beginning. We ran though the center of town, past the HonestReporting office, then out to Mount Scopus.

Going up Mount Scopus I felt great and realized that I had gotten a little ahead of my friends. But that was o.k. I realized that much as I enjoyed the company of others, I also enjoyed running on my own and just having time to sort through my thoughts.

We ran through the Old City then through a bunch of Jerusalem neighborhoods. One reason I love this race is that Jerusalem is my city. I know the places we were running by. It may be nice to look at the Kinneret during the Tiveria marathon, but looking at a lake gets old real fast.

In Jerusalem, music and street performers and crowds of people cheered us on throughout the course. I found myself feeling euphoric as I ran.

I don’t know why. I guess it was the fabled “runner’s high.” Who knows. But I felt better than I have felt in a long time while I was running. I felt a huge sense of confidence. I had a big smile on my face as I crossed the finish line and rather than collapsing, went over to watch my daughter Miriam finish the 10K. I even ran the last bit with her.

I have tried other ways to fight off the “situation.” On Purim, I “purimed” way too much. I think when friends saw that I appeared to be happy, they believed they could make me happier by helping me “purim” a bit more. Normally I probably look depressed or angry when they see me. So they really liked that I appeared to be happy and enjoying the day.

But at the end of the day, rather than feel better, I felt a lot worse.  Much, much worse. (I don’t blame anyone who helped me “purim” by the way,  I really should have known better. And I do apologize to anyone who I may have put off with my excessiveness. Thank G-d I wasn’t on Facebook that day.)

But unlike Purim, the happy feeling I got from completing the marathon lasted for days afterwards. And that helped me keep Stella’s spirits up, which is my primary goal in life. And I think it was working.

Until this morning when Stella woke up not feeling too “comfortable.” After consulting with our doctor, we decided to go to the ER just to be on the safe side.

And at this point, everything seems fine except for a little dehydration. So we are spending some more quality time together in a place that is now a second home to us. (A second home that we would prefer to never ever visit.)(You would think that by now I would have learned to avoid the tuna at all costs.)

When you worry that the sky is about to fall every time you wake up, you learn to squeeze every bit of enjoyment out of the breaks you get.

For me, the break was to run in the sun through the beautiful and holy city of Jerusalem.

And as long as Stella is feeling all right, I plan to go to Tel Aviv next week and run that marathon too.

And we will keep running,

and fighting,

and living for all the special moments in life.

Yarden Frankl, Shaare Zedek Emergency Room, Jerusalem

“Look, Dolphins!” my niece screams and my son and his cousin run to the aquarium window and stand in awe of the magnificent creatures swimming by. And for a moment, a short moment, I am not thinking of what it must be like for a nine year old to worry about his mother and wonder just what is happening to her.

“That wasn’t so bad,” my teenage son says stepping off the “Tower of Terror” with a smile. I wonder if he has really stopped for a moment thinking about his own tower of terror.

And so we ride the rides and see the shows and marvel at the Disney magic. We enjoy being together as a family and getting a break, a real vacation from the “situation.” And it seems to me that Stella is gaining strength more and more each day.

We have all loved the rides, but I think the one who has loved it most is the one who has gone on the least amount of rides. I see that Stella truly enjoys the fact that everyone is having such a great time. We are with her parents and her brother’s family, a big crew. But you can tell by the smiles how much this means to her.

We are squeezing. We are taking life and squeezing as much enjoyment as we can out of every second. Sure I get concerned that Stella is doing too much. But then I remind myself that this is how she wants to live. And that to best of her ability, she will. So she may have to go about in a wheelchair or an electric scooter. And she may have to leave the parks sooner than the rest of us.

But cancer be damned. She’s going to have fun and make sure the rest of us do too.

There are two ways to ride roller coasters. The first is to close your eyes, hang on, and hope the ride ends as soon as possible. When we got here, that’s how I rode. But that’s not much fun and you can really miss out.

So the other way to ride is to keep your eyes open, your arms in the air, and scream with delight while you relish the speed and every twist and turn.

Once you are buckled in, you’re on the ride, whether you like it or not. You can’t control what the ride will do. So you might as well try and forget that the ride is scary and instead focus on having as much fun as you can.

And after hitting the Rock and Roller Coaster three times and Space Mountain four, that’s exactly what we will keep doing.

Yarden Frankl, Walt Disney World, Florida

We get all psyched up (I put on my favorite shirt in the morning and pick a song of the day) and mentally prepare ourselves for the ordeal. While Stella takes a reflexology session, I go on Facebook and rally the troops. I guess that we feel when we are doing the chemo, we are actually fighting the cancer even if it’s tough. So when the day’s battle is cancelled, it leaves us at a loss. I am quite nervous while waiting for the test results.

A few months ago, Israel was poised to launch a ground invasion of Gaza to stop the rocket-fire coming out of the strip. Although such an operation would have been difficult and certainly caused casualties, I heard from many soldiers who were bitterly disappointed when it was cancelled. They would rather go through the hardship and risk because they knew they were going after terrorists and protecting Israeli civilians. After psyching themselves up for the battle, it was a bit of a let down to stand down.

So even though there are obvious differences, I think we can relate.

If the blood test is all right, then Stella first gets a bag of saline and then if that goes o.k., she gets a few bags of the nasty. That’s when things usually get difficult for both of us. Stella often starts to feel sick and knows that the feeling will last most of the week. I drive myself nuts with worry for her and just try to will the medicine to go faster so I can get her home and into bed. Safe. (Yeah, right.)

I don’t really sleep at night. I get a few hours here and there and watch the clock creep towards dawn. I am exhausted most of the time, but instead of sleeping, I exercise. Like nuts.

Suffering in the Alps

Right now I am doing the “Tour of Sufferlandia,” an eight day indoor cycling stage race. The workouts are videos that you watch while riding your bike on an indoor trainer. They are very, very intense and by the end everything in sight is covered in sweat. For me, they are a real escape. Instead of sitting next to Stella in chemo, I am racing up the Alps with the best bikers in the world. For an hour or two, I have my own reality and can get away from the fears that now accompany us every minute of the day.

What is really cool is that there is a Facebook group for those of us who enjoy riding ourselves into a mush each night. Usually riders comment on their experience with the day’s stage, talk trash, make jokes, etc. But when I posted that I was doing the ride after 8 hours sitting next to Stella in chemo, I got some wonderful messages of support from all over the world.

Here’s an example:

Yarden- we ALL should be riding for you and your wife. Woke up sore, destroyed, and deflated but after reading your comment above, I just rearranged my work schedule to come home at lunch and ride Stage 4. I wasn’t going to ride until tonight, now I can’t wait

Whoever you are, we love you.

And that’s good. Because feeling connected with people keeps us both going.

For those who did not read or understand the subtle way I gave an update in the last post, let me be more clear.

The cancer became resistant to the last chemo treatment we were on and started to grow. Stella has been switched to a much more aggressive medicine. It’s like putting down the pistol and bringing in the tanks. And while tanks are much more powerful in destroying the enemy, they tend to wreck pretty much everything in their path while doing so.

So this chemo has been very hard on both of us and the kids. We have been spoiled the last few months because Stella was feeling good. Now she has treatments on Mondays two consecutive weeks with the third week off. The effects last almost the entire week.

That means that we need to bring back the old rules. Please e-mail before visiting. Please talk to me before you decide to make us a meal (Note: this is NOT a request for meals.) And please forgive me if I tell you to F* off. (No, I don’t really do that, but I can be quite nasty when things are not going so well.) Remember the tip: If you hear music despite the headphones, and I’m singing/screaming, avoid at all costs.

And, of course, please continue to have Stella in your prayers.

The difference between running and bike riding is that running is constant work. On the other hand, when you are on a bike, every now and then you come to a nice downhill. You sit back, feel the breeze, take a drink and just coast along until the next hill. Then you have to work hard again.

And that’s what we have to do now.

And ride for the dawn.

Yarden Frankl, Neve Daniel

We just switched chemo. The medicine we were on was not doing enough. The fact that the side effects were very light was nice, but unfortunately nice doesn’t cut it when you’re dealing with cancer.

We don’t need nice. We need nasty, tough, Ray Lewis style chemo. We need the Sayeret Matkal (elite Israeli commando unit known for kicking A**,) not the jobniks. This cancer is proving to be very tough, so we need to be even tougher.

So the chemo days will be longer and not quite as pleasant (Erica, we miss you but don’t come back!)

Now I’ll throw a little truth into my tone because I know the “rah rah, we’re gonna win!” attitude can come across as believable as a 50′s propaganda film.

I’m worried, and scared, and mad.

While Stella handles herself with grace and dignity all the time, I do not. Nor do I intend to. Catch me at the wrong time, and you might want to steer clear. Nothing personal. I like you. Really. I can sneer at some of my closest friends.

And you might think everything is fine because most of the time I can schmooze, and joke, and run, and fake being normal pretty darn well if I do say so myself.

But beneath the mask I wear I am burning with anger. I wish I could be angry at someone because that’s easy. Or if anyone knew why Stella got sick I could get mad at that. But it doesn’t work that way.

Should I be mad at G-d?

Maybe, but that just doesn’t feel right. Worthy of perhaps a few books, but that’s for the Rabbis to write. No, I can’t really explain but getting mad at G-d just doesn’t do it for me.

I’m furious because the person I love is under attack, and I have nothing besides the concept of cancer to get mad at.

And when everyone sees Stella smiling and being her charming self, it’s hard to explain why I am standing by the water tower early in the morning screaming my head off.

The dog understands, but that’s about it.

But don’t worry. I keep the mask close by and can usually flip it on whenever you come close.

(Hint — if the earbuds are in, and you can hear the music playing loudly, please keep your distance.)

Is this is a good way of dealing with the situation? Dunno. I’m kinda making it up as we go.

O.K., you can relax. That was the therapy part of today’s post. Now to the fun part.

Fu** Off Cancer

We’re going to Disney World!

Of course this was Stella’s call. And despite the fact that she claims  she really wants to go to Disney for herself, we know the truth. She wants our kids and nephew and nieces to go to Disney and have a blast. Stella’s enjoyment comes from seeing others enjoying themselves.

So in two weeks, it’s back to America. This time I’ll be riding in coach with the kids while we let Queen Stella ride up in First Class where the pilot gives passengers foot massages.

And then it’s Mickey time for all of us.

And our families will both join us.

Having our families in one of the world’s best “fun” centers is exactly what we all need.

All of us have been on the cancer roller coaster long enough.

It’s time for a real roller coaster where the screams are just for fun .

The operations have left several large scars on her body.

She is very, very thin. Not in the coveted “super-model” way.

Yet with everything that this disease and its treatments have thrown at her, I think she is the most beautiful being on the face of the Earth.

There is nothing that could ever compare to her smile. I look at her and despite what’s  going on, she can make me feel better with that smile.

Her eyes have a glow behind them full of kindness. Her smile can light up a room and make the coldest, darkest day of winter seem like a warm, sunny day at the beach.

When I first moved to Neve Daniel, I used to boast that I had the best view in the world. My bedroom window faces out on the rolling hills of Judea. On a clear day, you could see all the way from Tel Aviv to Ashkelon. Every now and then, you could make out ships on the Mediterranean.

But then an apartment building was put up across the street, and I lost the view.

But that’s o.k.

Because I still wake up to the most beautiful view in the world.

And I don’t even need to look outside.

In all likelihood, they will be very cold, very wet, and struggling to breath as they attempt to run 42.2 kilometers under very difficult conditions.

Let me give you one piece of advice.

Enjoy.

Enjoy the cold, and the rain, and everything else.

Enjoy every minute, every step, every breath.

Running a marathon, even under ideal conditions, is a tremendous accomplishment. My first one was my slowest, but perhaps my favorite. As soon as I stepped over that finish line, I was just filled with pride. I felt if I could finish a marathon, I could do anything I put my mind to.

You MUST look for and take on voluntary challenges. Everyone should. Why? Why put yourself through the difficulties involved?

Because the more you are able to defeat challenges that you set for yourself, the better equipped you will be to withstand challenges that are not of your own choosing.

Who will win the Marathon?

Anyone who can finish with a smile on their face and confidence in their heart.

Good luck and I look forward to running with you in the future.

Yarden Frankl, Neve Daniel

If you have cancer, then the medicine is particularly nasty. But you must take it because it’s what you need to fight the cancer cells that are trying to wreck your body.

But there is another type of medicine that I think does an even better job than the chemo. It is not produced by a lab, and you don’t need a prescription to get it. All you need is a group of people who love you and can make you smile.

Stella and I just returned from spending the weekend in the U.S. When I told people we were going to be in America for just over two days, they were shocked and asked why the trip was so short.

The trip was short because Stella has weekly treatments that we can delay but can’t skip. And also, we didn’t want to leave the kids for too long.

But the truth of the matter is that we didn’t need more time. This trip was not about seeing sights or taking tours or even shopping. (O.k., we did manage to fit in an hour visit to Target.)

This trip was about seeing friends. The kind of friends that could bring out Stella’s best smile. The friends that we have missed and could make us both feel that everything will be o.k.

And for that, you don’t need much time.

So our “treatment” was relatively short, but what we missed in quantity, we made up for in quality. We saw people non-stop and hung out eating, drinking, and just relishing in the embrace of a community whose love we could feel.

And as you can see, we spent most of the time with big smiles on our faces.

Which is a great way to kick off the new year.

2013 will have 12 months. That’s 365 days. It works out to 8,760 hours. Or just over half a million minutes. Or 31,536,000 seconds.

Let’s see how many of them we can spend smiling in the company of those we love.

Thanks to everyone again. And thanks to the guys who braved the cold to ride with me. I think the smile froze to my face.

Literally.

Yarden Frankl, Neve Daniel

Once again we sit under the fluorescent lights, surrounded by the white hospital walls. The chairs are lined up against the wall in “bus station” style seating.

No, it’s not terrible.

Cancer is terrible.

The chemo that fights the cancer can be terrible.

The blood tests and scans and injections can be terrible.

The sick feeling and weight loss and hair loss and a bunch of other nasty side-effects can be terrible for both patients and those who care about them.

Sitting with no way of knowing what the next month — or even the next week — will bring can be terrible.

The word terrible starts with terror, and yeah, I get that.

So relatively, the lack of a homey atmosphere for those getting treatment is not the worst thing in the world.

But it can be much better.

And it will be. Very soon.

Today I met with the hospital’s architect and we discussed plans for making this treatment room a better place. And with the 170,000 shekels we raised from the bike ride and wrist band sales, we can quickly turn these plans into a reality. So within a few weeks, we will be sitting in a room with more color, more privacy, more of an atmosphere of comfort and healing. For all those who donated, for all the soldiers of Stella’s Army, for all those who have cheered us on and made these renovations possible, Stella and I thank you.

Of course no matter how nice these renovations are, I would love nothing more than never to see them. Wouldn’t it be good to leave the nicer room for others in the battle while we find things that are more fun for our Mondays? (It’s a low bar I know — root canal while sitting on a block of ice as wild dogs fight would be more fun.)

But we know that this room is where we will be spending our Mondays for a very long time. That’s just a reality. So all we can do is make the most of our reality and move forward, while all the time imagining a dawn of health for us and for all those fighting cancer.

The bike ride may be over, but Stella and I will continue “Riding for the Dawn.”

And we can hear your cheers.

Yarden Frankl,

Shaare Zedek Oncology Day Treatment Room

Isn’t that what people with cancer are supposed to do? Go see mountains and contemplate the meaning of life? Travel to exotic places — places that you always wanted to visit. To stop putting off things and squeeze the most out of life?

Stella was not interested in mountains. She turned down every suggestion I made (politely, of course.) Believe me, all she would have had to do is express a desire to go anywhere, and I would be online ordering tickets in a flash. But from Australia to Hawaii, she was not interested.

But when I asked wasn’t there any place at all in the world where she wanted to go, she finally said “Potomac.”

We lived in Potomac, Maryland for about ten years. Before that, we had lived at a few places in and around Washington, DC. But in these other places, we would rarely meet our neighbors. It’s not that we are anti-social, far from it. It’s just the way it was.

But everything changed when we moved to Potomac. Even as we were moving to our new house, a dozen families who lived nearby came to welcome us. For ten years, we knew that it was possible to hop next door in pajamas for a cup of sugar or advice on how to deal with infants. From kids’ soccer games to dinners on Friday night that would stretch late into the night, we felt at home. We had joined a community.

And we met great people. We still consider our Rabbi in Potomac to be our spiritual mentor. There are so many great friends that we shared so many special times with. When we announced that we would finally be fulfilling our dream of moving to Israel, it was a bittersweet moment. Yes we were excited at the prospect of our new lives in the Holy Land. But we also shed quite a few tears over the friends who we would miss so dearly. The food at the going away party was grand. But no one had much of an appetite.

But we did move. And we did rebuild our lives in our new home. We found new friends and a new community and found new soccer games and late night dinners. We love Neve Daniel. But that doesn’t mean that we ever forget for one second our other home in Potomac.

And then Stella got sick.

And the e-mails started pouring in. When we were dealing with the initial shock of the diagnosis, our Potomac “family” stood side by side with our Neve Daniel “family.” While Neve Daniel neighbors made lasagnas, Potomac sent money for pizza. It’s like we had never left. Even today, we sit in chemo and read e-mails and Facebook comments that roll right over the ocean, expressing the love and support that has been so vital in our progress so far.

There are three synagogues in Potomac. And on many issues, they maintain a distance. But when it came to Stella, all three communities joined together to say tehillim (psalms) and even did a solidarity bike ride wearing their Stella’s Army bracelets. We really can feel the prayers that are said in Potomac, even though we are so far away.

Stella understands something very basic and yet something that escapes most of us when we think about life. No matter how impressive a mountain may be, nothing is as impressive as a good friend. Before writing down “Climb Mount Everest” on any list of lifetime achievements, try “spend time with  old friends.”

So I plotted and schemed. I applied for frequent flyer credit cards that I canceled as soon as I got the bonus miles. I took all the old points from my kids accounts and put them together. And I let a few folks into the secret so we could plan the weekend.

But I actually was able to keep it a secret from Stella.

Until tonight.

I can’t think of a present I enjoyed giving more than Stella’s Chanukah present tonight.

Of course, Stella immediately started thinking of ways to thank everyone, but I am going to make it easy on her and just say that the Kiddish is on us. (But no, Stella will Not be making the cholent.)

If you are in Potomac, we are coming December 28-30th. Hope to see you.

Chanukah Sameach.