This past Saturday I ran the Hamptons Half Marathon for the second year in a row with TNT. This year I raised more money, which was sweet. But this year I ran the damn thing 12 minutes slower than last year, which was not sweet.

Going into the weekend, the forecast according to Accuweather went like this: Shitty with an increasing chance of shitty at the start of race. It wasn’t just that it was going to rain, it was that it was going to be warm for a race — 70 degrees or so — and likely humid.

Well, we lucked out on the rain.

But that was about the extent the weather gods gave into us. Temperature was in the upper 60s to lower 70s and humidity was stuck at or near 10,567%. Now, I know folks in Louisiana are likely laughing at me, saying that that’s practically Christmas weather, to which I say: You go run 13 miles in that.

In the end, it might as well have rained. I’m not what you’d call the heaviest sweater in the world, but by the end of the second mile, I was soaked through.

And there were hills this year! I’m sure they were there last year, but I sure as hell didn’t notice them. It’s amazing what 60 degrees and no humidity did to my perception–and my race time–last year. (I guess I should apologize to fellow TNTers for claiming there were no hills.)

Of course, blaming weather and hills is silly. Last year I trained harder. Earlier this year for the Brooklyn Half, I also trained harder. Indeed, with the exception of the clouds I’d say the weather for the Brooklyn Half was similar. And while the humidity may have eased up in the second half, the hills in the Brooklyn Half are much worse.

At any rate, I finished without passing out or crapping my pants–which for a fleeting moment between miles 8 and 9, I thought might become an actual issue.

And after getting back to the hotel in Montauk I crossed the street and walked into the icy waters of the Atlantic, hoping the cold would head off extreme soreness. It didn’t, but it was a nice post-race ritual anyway.

Oh, and thanks to Coaches Jim and Amy for running with me toward the end. And even bigger thanks to Coach Radie for running with me what felt like miles out to the turnaround. I’m sure I was my usual high-spirited, chipper self.

Did you know that I'm a cancer survivor? Or, as I like to refer to it, "cancer survivor."

Back in 2008, I got skin cancer for Christmas. It was something called basal cell carcinoma and, if you absolutely, definitely have to get cancer, that's the one to get. It's not flesh eating, doesn't spread really fast (indeed, the bump had been there for years, it seemed) and was fairly easy to remove.

Still, it meant spending a day at Memorial Sloan Kettering getting a substantial chunk of my nose removed. Luckily there was enough skin left to simply sew it shut without bothering with skin grafts -- though spending another hour or so with the absolutely smoking hot doctors in MSK's reconstructive unit wouldn't have been a bad thing.

A day in outpatient procedures, a bandage for a week or so and good to go. There's still a rough, red area across my nose and when I squint you can see a perfect vertical line. Despite blogging about it to the entire world, many people still don't know I went through this. And because I'm a sick individual, I take pleasure in answering questions about what happened to my nose.

"Hey, did you fall down?" or "Hey, did you get in a fight?" people will ask, sort of laughing.

I look down at the floor for a second, then directly at them with a mixture of disappointment and heartbreak. "No," I say, then pause. "As a matter of fact." Another pause. "It was cancer."

Then I put my hand over my mouth and run out of the room crying. I kid, of course. Hell, during my first intro session at Team in Training, when they asked who in the room had cancer, I didn't even raise my hand. Here were people who had cancer INSIDE of them, who went through chemo and radiation and bone-marrow transplants and hair loss and vomiting and all of that. I wasn't going to raise my hand because I had some stitches in my nose.

Since then, I've been about as good as a Cajun, former lifeguard and pasty-skin hater can be when it comes to the sun. Lots of sunblock. I went to Hawaii last year alone and managed not to get sunburned.

Until last week, when I was in Grand Isle. I did pretty good for most of the week, until I started fishing in the surf. I get a little obsessed when fishing -- especially after shelling out 90 bucks for an out-of-state license. Especially when you were dealing with fish who just knew you were about to go back in and reapply sunblock so they send one of their own to bite just once and sucker me into staying in the water for another two hours.

Result? Sunburned back and stomach (with a bonus "X" shape where my arms holding the rod shaded my stomach).

Even better, I had to go to the dermatologist this week to get a "mole of concern" removed from my back. It wasn't cancerous. Yet. It wasn't even technically "pre-cancer." But the dermatologist said the biopsy indicated that it was "of concern." Hence, it's a MOC, a mole of concern.

I was sure she was going to yell at me. I would have. "What are you, an ijit or something? What kind of fool shows up to have something removed and HAS SKIN PEELING OFF HIS BACK?!?!" But she didn't. She just sliced out a hunk of my back and sewed me back up. Told me to keep it clean, use my sunblock and said chances were pretty good the margins would be clear.

Chances are pretty good. Just the sort of thing that's going to nag at me for a week. I've got a pretty strong hypochondria streak in me. Last summer I became convinced for a week or two that I had actually caught leukemia and lymphoma from LLS! This year I became convinced I was thisclose to having a heart attack at least three times a week.

What's my point in all this? I don't know. Basically, I didn't go running this morning because I have stitches in my back and a big old itchy bandage and was told to wait at least 24 hours before getting it sweaty, wet or taking it off.

So, yeah, this was the longest excuse ever for not going for a run.

Last week, I was down in my home state of Louisiana for a little R&R with the family. I'm a firm believer that vacation is meant to be vacation. I might bring along a smart phone, maybe even a laptop, but they're for goofing off, not for checking work email or seeing what's going on back at the office. Sure, it might lead to a Monday-morning panic attack when I have to go through 2,500 emails, but that's what the delete button is for.

Training, on the other hand, I try to keep up with. If for no other reason than to burn one or two of the 60,000 excess calories I consume on vacation. Granted, I'm not running sprints, but I figure a couple of runs keeps me from falling completely off pace and allows me some moments to myself.

Just think about it, sand under your feet, wind in your hair, the Gulf of Mexico on one side of you, its waters stretching out to the horizon.

But beach running is only great in theory. Especially beach running in Louisiana. Especially beach running in Louisiana at 2 in the afternoon. (File that one under "Things I Don't Need to Do Again.) Only an idiot or masochist runs at 2 in the afternoon during the summer in Louisiana. Sure, it SEEMS like it's cooler on the beach. But that was only because of the 17 mph headwind. And sure, you tell yourself that running straight into the wind for the first half of the run will make the second half easier. But once the wind is at your back, it feels like no wind at all -- just the sun, the hot, hot sun. During my first run last week, the Accuweather "real feel" temp -- which is arrived at by factoring in temperature, relative humidity and the reading the entrails of a slaughtered goat -- was 99 degrees.

The second run I did early in the morning. It was actually cooler at that time. The wind had died down and the sky was overcast. But the humidity had somehow gone up. Still, not the worst run.

But even excluding the temperature, beach running still involves running over sand. Hard sand, soft sand, sucking sand and sand that sticks in your shoes and then is flung up at your ass and back.

But these are nice problems to have. You've still got the view -- even if the carcass of the dead sea turtle with it's back half bitten off by a shark is a little unsettling. And you know that when the run is over, you don't have to go to work, or get ready for work the next day or any of that foolishness. You can go fishing. Or swimming. Or beer drinking.

I've signed up for my second year of running the Lymphoma & Leukemia Society's Team in Training. Why? To raise money to cure cancer. To hang out with the friends I made last year. Because if I don't sign up for these things, I start to grow as wide as I am tall. When I do sign up for these things I can eat ice cream and cake.

But before I blather on about me some more, a thing or two about LLS. Since it's inception in 1949, it's raised over $750 million to fight blood cancers. That's a -- what's the scientific term? That's an assload of money. What do they do with this money? Here's a quick peak. And it's made a difference. The easiest way to see this is to join TNT and notice the number of survivors actually training with groups. One gentleman who'll be training with Brooklyn this summer spoke to us yesterday. He was diagnosed at the end of 2009. LESS THAN TWO YEARS AGO. He was headed for a painful future of bone-marrow transplants when his doctors told him about a study in its fourth year that had discovered that people with his specific type of cancer responded to chemo just as well as they did bone-marrow transplants. This past March he ran a half marathon. Now he's training for New York.

Guess who funded the study? Go on. Guess. LLS. And people like you who helped me raise money last year.

Another stat they dropped on us. A kid diagnosed with blood cancer in the 1960s had a 4% chance of survival. A kid today has a 90% chance. But before we go patting ourselves on the back, I'll tell you what the coordinator told us. As amazing as that is, imagine putting 10 parents in a room and telling one set of them that their child is going to die.

So that's why we do this.

Up next? Will I run the Hampton Half Marathon or the Hampton Full Marathon?

Racing to Save Lives

Welcome to my Team In Training home page.

I'm training to participate in an endurance event as a member of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society's (LLS) Team In Training. All of us on Team In Training are raising funds to help stop leukemia, lymphoma, Hodgkin lymphoma and myeloma from taking more lives. I am completing this event in honor of all individuals who are battling blood cancers. These people are the real heroes on our team, and we need your support to cross the ultimate finish line - a cure!

Please make a donation to support my participation in Team In Training and help advance LLS's mission.

I hope you will visit my web site often. Be sure to check back frequently to see my progress. Thanks for your support!