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Batman don’t get no cancer

by Denis Faye - The Nutrition Nerd | August 11, 2014

936344_10151473514433096_785488589_nLong time Nerd Herders out there are probably well aware of Steve Edwards, my mentor and long-time collaborator. More than anyone else, he’s the person who opened my eyes to the importance of helping others look after themselves. He’s why I work at Beachbody and he’s why the Nutrition Nerd blog exists. He’s why I ride my bike hundreds of miles a week like a Pee Wee Herman on crank. He’s pulled my butt out of a sling more times than I can recall. He’s my friend.

So when Steve told me that he has mantle cell lymphoma, a particularly invasive form of cancer, it hit me pretty hard. Batman would never get cancer–and therefore neither should Steve Edwards. In typical lackadaisical Edwardsian fashion, Steve dropped the C-bomb on me after a 45-minute conversation about our usual subject, me. I believe his exact words were something like, “Maybe if you’d washed your finger after doing that, she wouldn’t have snuck out in the middle of your date. Oh, and guess what? I have cancer.”

Wait a minute. Did I just make a joke about Steve’s cancer? Too soon?  Hell, no. It’s not soon enough! Sometimes, life throws a nasty curveball your way and you have two choices. You can laugh or you can cry. Steve’s has half of Beachbody sobbing like girly men–and the other half sobbing like, well, actual girls. So I choose to laugh–and that’s exactly how he wants itbreaking-bad-jesse-and-walter. I choose to point out that once he starts chemo, he won’t be able to fly from his home in Utah to Beachbody HQ in Santa Monica because the TSA might try a full cavity search to find the source of all that radiation. I choose to insist that, once his hair falls out, he grow a goatee and wear a black porkpie hat so that I can follow him around in ornately printed hoodies, tacking “yo” to the end of all my sentences, yo. I choose not to mourn because the bastard isn’t dead yet and, having known Steve Edwards for 25 years, if there’s anyone who can lick this disease, it’s him. Just you watch.

So far, he’s approached the situation with strategic precision that would make Napoleon, Hannibal Smith, and Alexander the Great scratch their collective heads and say, “Gee. I wouldn’t have thought of that.” Having caught the thing early, he’s got a rock solid battle plan. He’s keeping track of the whole experience on his blog. I strongly suggest you check it out. Here’s a preview:

 

When you hit middle age, cancer haunts your world more often than you’d prefer. So far, I’ve lost an aunt and a friend to the disease, but I’ve also had a few friends pull through with flying colors. In the next few weeks, I’ll do a write up or two on cancer-fighting nutritional protocols–and if you have questions, please ask away! In the meantime, I hope you’re with me in my insistence to Steve that he kick cancer’s ass, so he can get back to the business of climbing, riding, dishing out wellness advice, and commenting dryly on my ruinous romantic life, yo.


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