Running All over the World

By Anthony L. Copeland-Parker

• Describes a novel approach to living with Early Onset Alzheimer’s
• Shares a unique and offbeat love story 
• Depicts one couple’s love of running, travel, and each other 
• Explains the realities of travel, living out of a suitcase long-term
• Encouraging readers to seek enriching experiences over monetary gain and/or security
• Appeals to readers of Nancy L. Mace’s The 36-Hour Day 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Morgan James Publishing
• Release date: May 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781636980317

Anthony L. Copeland-Parker

Anthony L. Copeland-Parker was a professional pilot/manager for thirty-seven years—the last twenty-seven with United Parcel Service—where he managed pilots and flew B757/767-type aircraft all over the world. When he retired, he began writing his blog, RunningwithCat.com. Since then, he and his partner Catherine have traveled to eighty-two different countries. They have run at least a half-marathon in thirty-five countries and on all seven continents, and they currently outside of Atlanta, GA.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Refusing to Act Normal

You don’t stop running because you’re old. You get old because you stop running.

—Christopher McDougall

This is the story of our five-year journey to run all over the world after my open-heart surgery and my life partner Catherine’s diagnosis of early-onset dementia. We refused to act normal under these circumstances. We both retired, we sold our home, and we began a journey to create memories that would last a lifetime—since neither knew how long that would be.

I was a commercial management pilot at UPS, and Catherine was working for the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) when a routine exam discovered I had a leaky aortic valve. I was running marathons at the time and thought my pace was getting slower because I was getting older. Two years later, the fall race season was in full swing when my surgeon and I picked a date between two races on my schedule. My surgeon, who was also a triathlete, and I felt it was best to put in an artificial valve, something that could handle my level of exercise.

The decision to give up our careers and travel the world wasn’t etched in stone until we learned about Catherine’s reason for her forgetfulness at the age of fifty-three. I had noticed something was wrong the year prior, but it wasn’t until her job performance started to suffer that we had to find out what the problem was before she was fired.

Exhaustive testing confirmed our fears with a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s. We managed to get her six months’ severance and have her put on disability with both the government and Social Security.

I struggled with the thought of retirement, but the decision was made for us. In December 2014, I was informed that my seventeenth different job at UPS would be one that I had done before for five years. I really wasn’t looking forward to doing it again, so I made the decision to simply retire at the age of fifty-nine.

At the same time, our condo in Indiana was on the market. I got a call from my realtor saying that she had an offer, but there was a catch. A sweet lady who had just lost her husband needed something smaller. She had cash from the sale of their home and wanted to close in two weeks. The price was right, so we sold the condo—and I gave my boss my resignation.

We had some races on the schedule, so the thought was for us to travel for a while from race to race and see if we could find some place to call home. We figured we could fill the time between races with side trips to places I had always wanted to visit—not as a pilot on an eight- or sixteen-hour layover, but as a tourist.

Off we went, right after the closing, with what we would need for the next few weeks. Since you can fly nonstop on Delta from Atlanta to just about everywhere, we sold our cars, loaded up our motor home, and made our way to Atlanta. We didn’t see ourselves living in a motor home, so we put it in storage there. Most of our household goods went into storage in our hometown of Jeffersonville, Indiana, and the rest still resides in a five-by-five storage unit near the Atlanta airport.

We didn’t know at the time that this journey was to last five years (and counting) and take us through ever-changing landscapes as we completed race after race in far-flung locations, such as Madagascar, Bhutan, and Antarctica. We’ve both completed a race on all seven continents and finished the six world major marathons: New York, Chicago, Boston, London, Tokyo, and Berlin.

Of course, along the way, we’ve had our share of what I call the blue days. I can’t say I always have the perfect solution for Catherine. Simply saying I love you will not always work since, from her point of view, she can be a burden.

I recorded a voice memo for Catherine to listen to on those blue days and have our song, You and Me by the Dave Matthews Band, playing in the background. Two lines in this song—about getting to the ocean and taking a boat around the world together—set the tone for us.

CHAPTER 2

The Hospital Endurathon

Aspire to inspire before you expire.

—Eugene Bell Jr.

In June 2014, during the lead-up to my open-heart surgery to replace my aortic valve with a mechanical valve, one of the thoughts that always came to mind was, Why me? Was there something that I could have done differently?

One thought was that I had an aneurysm in my descending aorta, which might have caused the problem with the aortic valve. A closer look by the folks at the Cleveland Clinic found that for my size, 6’6", that might be normal for me. Due to my height and the fact that I am often referred to as lanky, they put me through a battery of test for Marfan syndrome. Those tests came back negative.

When I did the Iron Man competition in Louisville, the swim portion was in the Ohio River, and three months later, I noticed a sore on my scalp that was later diagnosed as a MRSA skin infection. Infections have been known to cause valve problems, but we have no direct proof that was the cause, even though my doctor first noticed my heart murmur five months later.

Last but not least was the number of endurance events I had participated in. Was I merely blowing out my valve? No one told me to stop running before the surgery, so I took part in a challenge where a group of us decided to exercise for at least thirty minutes each day for one hundred days. I had no symptoms, but I obsessed over my condition and was on a downward spiral mentally.

Even when one hundred days were up, I decided to keep exercising every day until the day of my operation. Physically, I felt great, and eventually, I decided that the question Why me? might not ever be answered.

A little more than six weeks before the surgery, I finished my fifty-second marathon. Some people might have called me crazy, but running was actually what kept me sane. The stresses from work and surgery seemed to melt away when I was out breathing the fresh air and watching the world go by, step by step.

I had seen people with one leg, cancer survivors, and even one guy in a traditional wheelchair at running events. I had a chance to speak to the gentleman in the wheelchair at the finish, and I mentioned that he was such an inspiration. He turned the tables and said that mere fact keeps him going. I would have never thought of it that way.

Time seemed to stand still when I was waiting for my surgery date. I made lists of plans on the postoperative side of the calendar. I worried about germs more than usual. I understood that the operation could be postponed for a simple cold, so I found myself washing my hands with sanitizer several times a day.

I remember reading an article in Runner’s World magazine where they compared running a marathon to an open-heart surgery. In both cases, no one wants to hear the gory details. I saw some other similarities too. I feel that completing a marathon is 90 percent mental. Your preparation, training, and planning are essential. During the race, your body is working in every way to tell you to stop, but your mind must convince your body to continue. I approached the operation like I would a marathon and decided to come out of it stronger and better than before. I would use modern medicine to help fight off the disadvantage of getting older.

We all know that as time marches on, cells don’t replicate as they used to, but I was replacing a faulty valve with a brand-new one that would easily outlive me. I imagined what I could accomplish without the distraction of worrying about my heart.

Still, during the week before surgery, I didn’t get much sleep. I found myself thinking about my mother, who I had the honor and privilege of taking care of for nine years before she passed away in July 2013. During her many hospital stays, she never complained and always tried to bring a smile to the face of everyone she had contact with. I resolved to keep her attitude close to my heart for my very first overnight stay at a hospital. My plan was to be out of the hospital four days after the surgery, and I knew that the only way to make that happen was to do what my doctors and nurses said and to try to brighten their days.

The morning of my surgery, I had a great three-mile walk. I knew it might be awhile before I could get back to walking that distance. With two hours remaining before the operation (and 107 days until the Berlin Marathon), I had prepared myself as best as humanly possible.

When I woke up from the surgery, I had no pain. This was sort of worrisome since I expected it to creep up on me as the drug dosage decreased. To help myself learn to be a patient patient, I took a ten-minute walk around the area.

One thing I hadn’t prepared for was how difficult it was to get a good night’s sleep in my hospital room. I’m a light sleeper, and it didn’t help that this was my nightly routine:

10:00 p.m.: Oral medication plus a stick to the belly

11:00 p.m.: Vitals check

12:00 a.m.: More meds through an intravenous line

1:00 a.m.: Someone sticks their head in and asks how I’m doing

3:00 a.m.: Vitals check

4:00 a.m.: Someone sticks their head in and asks how I’m doing

5:00 a.m.: Blood draw

6:00 a.m.: More meds through an intravenous line

7:00 a.m.: Vitals check

8:00 a.m.: More oral meds plus a shot to the belly

Before the surgery, I could only sleep on my right side since my murmur had gotten so loud it would reverberate off my ribs and keep me awake—or wake me up if I turned that way. I didn’t know that when you’re hooked up to IVs in a hospital bed, sleeping on your back is a required skill.

I also underestimated how the lack of endorphins was going to affect me. I thought that if I was able to get out and walk the halls a dozen times a day for a total of an hour or so, I would be okay.

With the lack of sleep, lack of endorphins, and a headache that wouldn’t go away, I was not my totally positive self. For the hospital to release me, I had to have an INR (International Normalized Ratio) of at least 2.5, meaning that my blood was thin enough that it wouldn’t clog my new artificial valve.

On the fourth day after surgery, my INR still wasn’t in the safe range, so I wouldn’t be going home. I told myself that what I was going through was temporary and somewhat out of my control. I focused on what I could control more, which included walking with my favorite running shoes on.

Early that morning, the manager of the floor saw me out walking and suggested that I go to the rehab facility near my room. They didn’t open until ten, so I was like a kid waiting for my parents to wake up on Christmas morning. With my vitals up on a screen for the folks to review and my blood pressure taken every five minutes, I was able to get in a slow walk for twenty minutes straight. I covered around .6 miles. I now had a new goal for the next day: Do a little bit better.

The icing on the cake was an afternoon walk on the rooftop lounge. It didn’t matter that it was ninety degrees outside—the fresh air was worth its weight in gold. When a chopper landed nearby, I imagined they had dropped in to pick me up and get me out on the day that I had originally hoped. While I was on the roof, I also decided to name my scar MZ for Mini Zipper. My positive attitude was back in full bloom.

During my time in the hospital, I learned a number of things I never thought I would:

How sweet the words wake up can sound

How to snap and tie a hospital gown with one arm hooked up to an IV

How to ask for more hospital food

That I could lose ten pounds in a week without dieting

Over a dozen ways to tell someone that what was going to happen was going to hurt

What INR stands for and how its movement varies widely from person to person

That the surgeon you have is always the best one on staff—thanks, Gosta Pettersson, MD, PhD!

That a new heart valve costs about $150,000

That pain is truly temporary

How great the sound of two beeps after hitting the pain pump in ICU is

That your heart is pretty smart; after surgery, it knows that it’s time to get some rest all by itself

That it’s quicker to go from fully dressed to ready for open-heart surgery than to go from hospital gown to your car on discharge

Seven days after surgery, my INR was in the target range, and I completed the hospital endurathon. Usually, I got a medal and a T-shirt at the end of such endurance events. In this case, my heart pillow was substituted for the T-shirt, and my brand-new On-X #27–29 mechanical valve was my medal.

CHAPTER 3

Why We Run

Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.

—Marty Ritter Beard

Our favorite commercial is a straightforward ad for ALZ.org where they talk about their belief that the first person who will be cured of this dreaded disease is alive today. We both feel Catherine is that person. For that to be the case, though, we have to preserve what she can do as long as possible. I’m pretty sure that the initial cure will be for a specific subset of sufferers, and we want to make sure she is part of that subset.

It was in 2013 that I began to notice that something was wrong with Catherine. Back then, I would talk for hours about work, running, or our travel plans; and I started to notice that, from time to time, Catherine would ask me a question that seemed a bit odd. I just chalked it up to my big mouth. There I was running off at the mouth, and all she was hearing was blah, blah, blah. But that was the first clue.

I had taken a job that required me to travel more than usual, so when we were together, I felt compelled to bring her up to date on everything that had happened while we were apart. She would listen, but more and more, she would ask questions to which I was sure she knew the answers.

Just before my heart-valve surgery, Catherine got a new boss who was a very shake-things-up type of guy. Her routine was her cornerstone, so stress at work went way up. Over time, we became increasingly convinced that she might lose her job—her boss had put her on probation and entered her into an employee improvement program. That is when we started going to doctors to try to figure out what was going on.

While I was in the hospital for my surgery, I noticed something serious: Catherine was staying at a nearby hotel, and sometimes she would forget to call me when she arrived at the hotel or would take several hours to get back to the hospital. She could recall things in the distant past way better than I could, but what happened earlier that day was unavailable for instant recall.

After my surgery, it slowly became a reality that Catherine was going to lose her job one way or another. Luckily, we had quite a bit of documentation concerning her condition. Since she was fifty-three at the time, the diagnosis was younger-onset Alzheimer’s or like condition. Doctors use that term since the diagnosis can only be confirmed by an autopsy.

There might be folks around you who have this condition, but you might never know it, especially in the early stages. We hope that our story will find its way to someone who would find this information useful since we firmly believe that the sooner, the better, is the best policy. As in Catherine’s case, documentation can protect one from losing their job. Like many other disabilities, there are benefits available; but first, you have to prove that such a disability exists.

There are treatments and drugs that can reduce the symptoms of dementia, but there is presently no cure. That being said, through our experience, we’ve found a number of habits that have made a difference for Catherine.

Social engagement. As time goes on, people with Alzheimer’s tend to withdraw socially, but we have found that social interaction helps to make stronger connections and, in turn, stronger memories. Catherine loves telling others about our adventures, and I fill in the details when asked questions to which she may not know the answer. Large groups can be problematic, though since multiple conversations can come in as merely white noise.

Dedicated support. As a partner, you have to be all in and realize that you probably will be together 24-7. Leaving the affected person home alone only accelerates the progression of the disease, and in such cases, you won’t be there to see the signs until it is too late.

Additionally, the affected person may need assistance financially, with work, and with medication: I have seen that there is a difference when Catherine misses a dose or two of her medication, and this is when I’ve needed to take an active role. Furthermore, it is good to have someone to encourage social involvement when the affected person wants to withdraw.

I have gone online several times looking for support groups, and I know they can be helpful, but frankly, we’ve been too busy enjoying life to take advantage of them!

Having new experiences. We feel that exciting new experiences go into the long-term memory unaffected by the condition, at first. When an individual sees the same thing every day, these experiences go into the short-term memory part of the brain and disappear. Their partner comes home and asks, What did you do today? and the answer is, I can’t remember. The frustration begins for both.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting that everyone should aim to run marathons on all seven continents. It can merely be a 5K in a nearby city or a visit to a monument or museum. The premise is that exercise, coupled with a memorable experience, is the key.

Exercise and sleep. We try our best to get some form of exercise every day, as it stimulates the brain, and the sense of accomplishment goes a long way when other things in life might not be going as planned.

Sleep is also important. With younger-onset Alzheimer’s, deposits of beta-amyloid protein fragments (plaques) and tau protein strands (tangles) form in the brain, causing nerve cell damage. While Catherine sleeps, however, some of these plaques and tangles are removed, so I try my best to make sure she can get eight to nine hours of sleep a night.

Given Catherine’s condition, why are we running all over the world? We’ve decided to see as much of the world for as long as we can and stay fit at the same time. We both found running as a refuge from our pain that also gave us concrete goals we could aspire to.

Catherine began long-distance running right after she lost her husband to cancer at a very young age. She was only thirty, and her big brother, Tommy, saw her spiraling down the drain of despair, so he suggested that she train to run a marathon. Catherine ran track in high school, so this was a great idea for her to keep her mind off her recent loss.

They started with 5Ks and 10Ks, building their way to half-marathons and eventually the Chicago Marathon in 1997 and 1998. If you’re only going to run one marathon in your life, the Chicago Marathon is the one. It’s flat as a pancake, and millions come out to cheer you along. If you try to quit, they will literally push you back on the course.

So far Catherine has completed eighty marathons, one ultramarathon, one Iron Man, and numerous triathlons and shorter races of various distances. When we set out to run all over the world, we set the goal for her to complete marathons in all fifty states plus DC, and she’s on track to achieve that goal this year if all goes well.

As for me, I was on the cross-country team in high school. I was always in the last heat and remember hating the sport and the pain in my legs after practice. I started running as an adult when I was going through a separation. I needed something to grasp hold of to keep my mind on track so I wouldn’t obsess over the current situation. It forced me to keep a disciplined lifestyle.

I started back with a nine-mile race, the Gil Clark Memorial in Louisville in the spring of 2000. I don’t think I had ever run a mile as an adult without stopping. I didn’t train at all, but I finished the race at 1:36:30, an average pace of 10:37 a mile. Another thing I like about running is that you can set goals for every day and for your lifetime.

As a midpack runner, I compete against myself and I always win. Each day that I head out the door, either for a training run or a race, I set a goal and have always been able to achieve that goal. When I turned fifty, I set out to run a fifty-mile race. Even though I was one of the last finishers, mentally I won, since I was able to achieve that goal.

Together, Catherine and I have done at least a half-marathon in thirty-one different countries and, so far, have visited eighty-one countries, some multiple times. Training with all our traveling can be a challenge, but I’m at my best when I’m solving problems one day at a time. We train when we can, and rest when it’s a travel day.

As I tell Catherine all the time, if she shows up at the start, she will finish. I just need to get her to the starting line confident that she has put in the work necessary to finish in the six to eight hours allotted.

I see running all over the world as a way for Catherine to have some part of her independence back. Running is something she can do without my help. It gives her a sense of satisfaction she needs. Endorphins will be in overdrive. Last but not least, it gives her a way to get the intensive level of exercise that research says can positively affect her brain. (More on that later.)

As I prepared to run my first postsurgery marathon, I remembered the first mile of that first nine-miler. I was amazed that I ran the whole thing without walking but quickly realized that if I was going to finish, I would have to walk some. I had two goals that day: to finish and not to die after crossing the finish line.

I didn’t die, but the soreness in my legs I remembered from high school was there in full bloom. So why go through that pain again twenty-five years later? Simply put, because I can. I set the goal to achieve, and I achieved that goal. Nobody can take that away from me.

Catherine and I run because it has taken us places we have never been before, both mentally and physically. A few years back, I ran the Missoula Montana Marathon. I needed the state in my quest to complete races in all fifty states, but the experience of the city will stay with me for a lifetime.

CHAPTER 4

Where the Rubber Meets the Road

Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming Wow! What a Ride!

—Hunter S. Thompson

The rubber met the road in 2014. In this case, the rubber of our running shoes on the road in Berlin, Germany. Throughout my recovery, I had focused on achieving my goal of running a marathon mere months after open-heart surgery. I had prepared myself as best I could. I knew what it took to run 26.2 miles, and I put a recuperation and training program together to achieve my goal.

In my mind, the hard part was behind me. This was my third marathon of the year. I felt very in tune with my body. I planned on starting really slow and slowing down all the way to the finish. I wanted to be able to keep my head up, enjoy the tour of the city on foot, and try my best to keep a smile on my face.

The weather was perfect, and the course was flat and lined with over a million folks cheering us on the entire way. Not only did my heart perform just as I had hoped, but the rest of my body parts cooperated. That is not always the case when trying to cover 26.2 miles by foot.

There were miles where I second-guessed myself. I doubted my abilities, and every part of my body begged me to stop. It was Berlin, so I was sure there would be cold beer at the end. When I would have usually hit the wall, at mile twenty, I started taking pictures and waving at all the well-wishers. I felt great. I used every fiber of my being to cross the finish line. Catherine told me later that it was a walk in the park for her.

Modern medicine is amazing. Only 108 days after open-heart surgery, I was able to run my fifty-third marathon. I must credit the skilled surgeons and team at the Cleveland Clinic. We had planned all along for me to be in a position to run this marathon. I followed their rehab instructions to the T and was so grateful to them for helping me achieve my goal.

The mini zipper scar from my surgery was quickly fading away but would always be there to remind me of what had transpired over the two-and-a-half years since my general practitioner first mentioned to me, Do you know you have a heart murmur? My life had forever changed—in my opinion for the better.

One of the things I hope will always stay with me is patience. I used to be a type A personality, someone who had never spent a day in the hospital. During every race, I used to look at my watch and try to improve my times, but in Berlin, I told myself to be patient and enjoy each and every moment.

Time flies when you’re having fun. It also goes by pretty fast as you get older, but I must admit that it goes by extremely quickly when you retire.

In December 2014, I offered my resignation, and we started a new chapter in our life. I had been working steadily since I started delivering papers at fourteen. I decided that forty-five years was long enough, and I had enough vacation days banked that I would still get paid until March 2015. I had been blessed with an outstanding career in aviation, but there was so much of the world