An ode to Barbaro.

I have wanted to write about so many things. So many things about the ups and downs of being an athlete and the empty feeling I was left with by not being able to walk for a while. The pain of a broken bone is nothing. It's more of having something taken away from you. And yet, every time I would get an idea written down it became whiny sounding, and irrelevant, compared to so many. Im lucky enough to know that in time I will come back, I will be strong and fast and independent, and all of the things I draw from as core strengths. 

But to me time is always secretly so precious, and I'm currently wasting so much of it. So I constantly go from counting blessings to being mad, to feeling sorry for myself, then back to empathy. I chock it up to what I call athletes depression. It's a quick drop with a sudden stop. As it continues to unravel I want to mope, cry, whine, everything; and a deep thought is fleeting and quickly wiped away- because I know that there is just literally nothing I can do to escape, go fast, feel exuberance.  I'm torn up because I aint no good to nobody, and can't do nothin bout it.

But still, being horse girl, there's always that lesson. (We love lessons) I can't help but think about all the friends and people that are fighting so much the bigger battle. Who are struggling out of a chair. Who's horse did far more damage than mine. I wonder if they feel the same mix of anger/indifference and love and longing toward the sport of riding. Many days I stick with the anger, because it's the only thing I feel I'm allowed to be mad at. I cannot be mad when people let me down, they have their own struggles, but I loved riding and well... Love sure hurts.

But the saga continues, and it appears that I loved my car, and my health too, so clearly that needed to be taken away. 

I started my day with the usual range of sad/mad/could-be-worse. I thought about my friends and family, and how I miss them. I thought about how many of them might be classified as strange to so many of the basic, uninteresting people i sometimes find. But mostly it was a profound morning, because after losing my voice and my health- thank you flu and laryngitis (and my leg) I figured it was a time to listen and to think. Maybe get some Jim Valvano vibe in for the day. It was the tinder that might spark some feelings again that I have buried and snubbed for the past six weeks. That to be called weird is a life lived artistically. And art, in some form was going to help me get back from this funk, since my most supportive people are so far away.  

But ONE thing in my cartoon life is never enough. Just like when I broke my back; my identity was stolen by the very same girl that held my hips together until the ambulance arrived. This injury was no different, I definitely had to be life slapped again. The day that I could return to weight bearing and become the budding lotus... My alarm went off with a celebration- exactly six weeks!!  I was hoarse, feverish, weak, limping, but empathetic and ready to write, photograph, and fight my way back to normal. If only I could find my car. 

...And the cartoon will start with this scene: we call the place and ask if they had my car towed, but it's a nail salon... 

"Ok you want pedicure?" No I want my car. I came in on Monday, remember I had a broken foot? Peg leg? Did you have my car towed? "Ok so you want you toes done Monday?" No, I am trying to find my car, was it stolen or towed? "Ok I look for you card, I let you know if I find"

Thanks. 

It was stolen. So here I wait. Waiting for the saga to unfold. When calling it in to the police I sounded worse than splinter from ninja turtles. 

The lesson is this... Fair only has one meaning in my vocabulary and it comes in the fall and has the best corn dogs and elephant ears. The other meaning is certainly the derivative of "fairy tale". Because there is no such thing.  Having something taken away from me is the biggest kind of hurt. I'm territorial. In the past six years I've lost a lot that I could get back, and a few things that I can't. A house can be rebuilt, bones heal, money comes and goes. 

The lesson is also patience. Be still, as my sweetheart would say. Because once again- there is nothing I can do. I cling to my happy thought. I can stand upright this week and take a step forward without a crutch. I have people that I can lean on, dogs to cuddle, and a few people that support me the most who encourage me to write this down. So as the page grows, my burden becomes lighter. Maybe the more I tell the past, less will unfold in the future. I think it would be nice for an interlude.

Blinkers OFF!

We all know that racing at the upper levels have the benefit of bigger budgets, more attention, and the picks of the litter in terms of talented minds, better bloodstock, and energized spirits... While being run by the good ol' boys. So what or who, then do we do to save racing at the lower levels? Who cares about the class B tracks and below?  As DRF's writer, Jay Hovdey says... Should we pave Turf Paradise and put up a parking lot?

Myself and the rest of the fresh minded minority don't accept this and I won't sit idly by knowing that the aging population returns every winter to places like this because we enjoy it. We are all here because we WANT to be. I'd like a call to action, (or even just your attention please!) and encourage the people and stakeholders in the game of racing to take ownership in the sport and in our workplace. What we have is not bad. What we COULD have is potentially a great thing. Five days of racing in temperate weather in the city of Phoenix, Arizona? Sounds great. Bring your clients, bring your friends. But if you've never been- you'd never know it existed... And please, if you're going to the backside- hide your kids, hide your wife, because there's no welcome committee for anybody.

I can't tell you how many times I've had the same conversation with such a vast array of personalities. There are ideas out there, and many of them are good ones. But how can we implement any of them? My guess is as good as yours. I have a pipe dream that exists about this place that sparkles like an imaginary platinum and diamond ring, Derby winner, and wakeboard boat... (Just kidding)

In all seriousness, the focus on surviving needs to be reallocated to thriving. There is an inexplicable tone in horse racing right now. An overall feeling of helplessness and hopefulness all wrapped into one adjective yet to be defined. It took an app to bring the racing news to my attention every morning, and ya know what? It competes with facebook. As the industry strives to find its relevance in the realm of fantasy sports, other gaming apps, and hold its ground in the mind of the gambler, I feel it's possible to hold our ground as an entertainment industry with a future.

What are tracks (this means you, Turf) doing to pull in the prospective bettors or addressing the waning market base? What is the incentive for young trainers, and young owners to to make a mark here? So many questions that I'd welcome an answer. Why is the track that is closest to the only racing industry program of it's kind in the country NOT taking advantage of interns and the freshest, most enthusiastic minds entering the industry? (These people are PAYING to be a part of the industry!)

As a stakeholder, bettor, and member of potentially target market base, there are a few things I could suggest, and would love to be a part of the team that spots the iceberg and does something instead of just a passenger.  

Summer at the 'Spa

Summer in New York. It’s just the place to be as a horse girl chasing (or was it running away from something)... I’m not quite sure exactly what it was that I was going for, and I’m not sure if I was lost, but I found a lot.  Mostly because there were more than enough horses and horse culture to satiate any equine junky. In this post-college gap year journey 2,700 miles from home I’ve found beauty, tons of new emotions…loneliness …rode enough horses to leave holes in my legs, and found that there is a place where the sport of horse racing feels absolutely alive.  I am left with a feeling that I can’t quite put to a particular adjective.  I rode the jumpers, learned a LOT, then checked my pulse and found that my heart still beats horse racing. 

After getting on 7 horses by 10AM this morning, I sat down with a clear head and my second cup of coffee- recapping some events from the night before and my time on the East Coast, and began to count my blessings.  I started to jot my thoughts down, feverishly tapping on my phone, then raced out of barn 58 from Saratoga to grab my computer to do the story some justice. I’ve had tons of little anecdotes and insights that were potentially pretty significant- but as a whole I felt like an incomplete mosaic of tiles just scattered all over the floor.  There hadn’t been enough to put a big picture together yet.  OH the people I’ve met… If they only knew that I was picking their brains and hoarding their experiences- (with the best of intentions, of course!)

Some conclusions so far: that it’s the nature of my generation and the paradox of my age group to overshare, relentlessly search for purpose, and be perpetually uncomfortable.  I have definitely had a lot of fun, but feel absolutely low at times- struggling to find clarity from these experiences.  It’s the quarter life crisis/plague still hitting me hard- “I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up”!

I’ve bounced from one horse industry to another and it has caused a bit of that perpetual feeling of discomfort and a feeling of never actually ‘belonging’.  But the upside to that is my eyes are always open and fresh. Viewing things as an outsider makes every little nuance significant.  Racing has always been romantic in nature, (they don’t make as many bestselling books & movies about trail horses…) and growing up in the industry and experiencing it every day can make one almost numb, almost.

Walking around horse mecca (Saratoga) makes a track ‘insider’ feel like less of a carny and more like you are part of something.  I know this place is full of rich tradition and history but what pumps life into racing here is absolutely the town and its people. This is a place where the locals celebrate everything equine and going to the track is just a staple of the summer.  Being from humble-ish beginnings, but growing up in racing, I know the prince, and I know the pauper.  The prince knows the value and the prestige of racing, and he will support it because it’s both elite and profitable.  With so much for the pauper to spend his two bucks on that might pay him back, where is the sustainability going to be? Why should he care?

To me, the answer is because it’s thrilling, romantic, and open for everyone that wants either picnicking or pageantry.  They want to see the action. Everyone COMES to the track here, they take glamour shots, selfies everywhere, and pictures of horses in the morning. I know and love the game enough to want to share it with everyone. What a different experience when the people are present!  Building an OTB network does well to support the operations but it doesn’t give enough to sprinkle the fairy dust of horse-wonder onto future bettors and fans or young adults looking for their Saturday hang out spot. Even on a storming, inclement Sunday afternoon in a crowded paddock tent, the bartenders and barflies alike were dressed up and huddled motionless, in silence as Tom Durkin gave his last call.  It wasn’t just the weather that held everybody so near each TV.  I looked around and a server’s tears caused a few of my own.  There is greatness in horse racing and they know… the people that have experienced it know.  Each track has the potential to glorify the triumphs, the power, and the money that is embedded in the sport. There must be a push across the board, and in “smaller” tracks to follow suit and package racing in a way that preserves the sport and creates sustainability for both the bettor, the spectator, and the horseman.

 

 

 

Chasing the white rabbit named happiness.

Feeling scared, confused, heartbroken, excited, happy, and hopeful. Taylor swift and I could write the sequel to "22". Titled: "25".

Funny how a blustery cold day in paradise will bring out emotion in people and racehorses. Maybe it's the lonesome silence you experience when the wind takes over and becomes the audible buffer between your ears and the rest of the world, leaving you with only your thoughts. The racetrack (or any barn) is really, in general, a perfect place to succumb to mental wandering. If you've never cleaned a stall, hosed down a wash rack, or raked a shedrow you might not understand the quality time that one has to really devote to pure thought.

As summer approaches I think about my commitment to a different place, with a different plan and different type of riding. Racetrackers are carrying on with their seasonal migrations and talk amongst themselves about where everyone else is going. I keep fighting the nagging feeling that this winter I might have missed something, didn't do enough... didn't get the full experience or give enough of myself to the process.  I've put some time and some thought into what it means to be a racetracker and way too much into what it means to be a woman. As I finished my chores last night and snapped up the last stall chain I felt like I had a story that NEEDED out of me, like a horse in the starting gate. I drew ten or more conclusions and similarities between love and racehorses. How the pursuit of a passion drives us to sell ourselves short, go for broke, and get back up in the morning everyday to do it all over again. How we often choose to ignore blatant gut feelings, and how pride can drive sooooo many decisions. Sometimes it's really unclear if it's fun; if you're actually driven by the process and the love of the game , or the person, or the horse- or if it boils down to just the innate desire to be winning at something.

As  I hashed out my horse problems, and emotional dilemmas to a friend the other day, I commented that I might just be freakin crazy, like one tick above cat lady just might be horse lady. Her advice to me just might be the most interesting reminder that more women should hear, "um no the crazy just comes with the territory. ... You are still a WOMAN."  Well ok then. I'll take that as "I was born with a license to think too deeply, care more than I should, and wish for fairy tale endings". I like to believe my upbringing and life experiences have lead me to believe that I'm tougher than that. That since I know better than to be the moth to the flame- I should just be able to continuously move forward and abstain from people that drag rather than lift, and horses that will just never fit the bill. Right?  ...Well maybe... I can say that I've been burned in horses and in relationships before but these thoughts and dreams that "Disney will call after the smoke clears" still enter my head and spin me around.

Soon this Moxee, WA farm girl will be embarking on a solo journey into east-coast jumper land void of security, family, racehorses, and love. Every song that describes these times becomes even more meaningful and I'm sure that I have some great people behind me, rooting for me, as I would for any of them. As I always said after each trauma I've experienced, "at least I always have a story to tell"! (Or a country song to write!) As the current chapter continues to unfold I'm happy to say its by no means a sad story and little thoughts are foreshadowing good things to come.  It's still unclear to me if I'm wholly excited or READY to enter uncharted territory where no one knows my name, my family, or any part of my past performances. I feel like I'm stepping out from the backyard match races straight onto Santa Anita.

To my inner posse: just wanted you to know how much you mean to me even though my distractions are narcissistic as hell. My good friends are joining and adding to families, becoming tax paying, contributing members of society, and I'm over here like: "I bought a new horsey today and um, I got my feelings hurt the other day ..."

Of Horses, Sports, and Cancer. Eff you Cancer...

We- the Toye family/kids were 'blessed' with a story to tell, and a strange desire to write and to share. So before I get into it- I'll start with my brother's chapter, and one that I hope you find as inspiring as I do.  At 26 he was diagnosed with Colon Cancer (stage III), a genetic byproduct of Lynch Syndrome, which runs in my family on my Mom's side. We were raised with horses on the backstretches of Longacres, Yakima Meadows, Emerald Downs, and Turf Paradise and I think his writing (like him) has alot of GRIT and gusto. Something we horse people look for, celebrate, and base our lives around.  It's one of the things that make this horse life so amazing, and brings in so many different characters.

KENNY'S MEMOIRS

May 4, 2013---Fuck You Cancer

Today was a good day. As I sit here writing this email. I reflect on the past 2 months that have been hell. Today I rode my motorcycle for the first time since my surgery. I groomed my face. I made myself all three squar­­­­­­e meals. These are huge steps to recovery for me.

Today’s inspiration was from watching the run for the roses, the Kentucky Derby. I thought about my parents and the way I was raised. Blue collar, work hard, earn your money, show up. As I listened to the stories about the horses I related to every connection intimately.

I had two favorites in the Derby. Oxbow, trained by the hall of famer D. Wayne Lukas. A man of consistency, like my father. Ridden by Gary Stevens, a man coming back after retiring for 7 years, back in the saddle. At 50 years old Gary Stevens is in the twilight of his career considered by most professional athletes. Not Mr. Stevens. He's in his prime. It's all state of mind.

My other pick was Orb. Trained by the hall of fame trainer Shug Mcgahey. A man who despite all of his accomplishments has never won the Kentucky Derby. As I watched the race intensely, I got goosebumps listening to the call to the post. My ears pricked up like a horse that hears the feed being mixed.
The start of the race, I had my eyes on both horses that I liked. Oxbow was stalking the pace. "Smart ride" I thought. Staying on the inside. Just off the pace. Poised for a stretch run. I was looking for Orb, couldn't find him. He was way in back of the pack. The opening fractions were very fast for a sloppy track and as I did the math in my head I knew that these times were going to set up for someone to come from behind to win. Sure enough, stretch run, here comes The Field!

We all know Orb wins the Kentucky Derby. It's the way the horse wins that gets me going. Relative to my life, my family, and the past few months of this surgery for me. Orb comes from 17th place to cross the wire in first place. Exactly the style that my dad trains his horses. Exactly the way that I'm going to beat this cancer.
Right now the race is on, the pace is set and I’m definitely not in the lead. Keep your eyes open and don't ever give up on a Terra Firma Farm baby. I'm a COME-FROM-BEHIND THOROUGHBRED and I'll be there to light the board.

PS forward this email to family, let them know I'm doing well. I don't have many email addresses.

I love you all and thank you for your love.

Go Sonics. Aloha.

Love, Kenny T.

 

June 10, 2013---Chemo Brain

 

Monday June 10th. As I sit in the lay-z boy chemo chair. I feel like I'm part of a knitting club. The chemo room is filled with old women. Women with wigs, bandanas, bald heads, loud hats. They talk about garage sales, Weekend talk shows and the most recent celebrity gossip.
The woman to my right has 6 months to live. She was beautiful at some point. the chemo and caner have destroyed her body. She clings to her beauty with makeup, loud clothes and accessories. The woman to my left is on her second to last chemo treatment. She is given a year to live. She has liver cancer. She enjoys animals and art. She has lost all her hair and looks like the typical cancer patient. The woman in front of me sits stoic and poised. She hates being in this room. She's a runner, she tells me about how she's an athlete and she runs marathons triathlons and scuba dives.

I'm sitting in a room full of tough bitches. These woman have been told that their life is going to end very soon. They live with the knowledge that their last breath could be soon. They look at me like I'm the lucky one. I have more life to live than they do. They're jealous that I am allowed to experience many more things that these tough, beautiful women took for granted. I get to thoroughly enjoy 30+ years of my life. These women only get less than one. I am lucky. They're on the fast track to eternal sleep. I'm on the slow track.

Here is sit. A cancer patient. Side effects kicking in. Tingling, numbness, nausea, vomiting, dizzyness.
Here I sit, fuck the side effects, life has a new perspective: I'm the thoroughbred in the starting gate. The boxer walking to the ring. The warrior. I am the proud member of the toughest knitting club ever known.

 

June 20, 2013---The Champ

 

Everyday above ground is a good day. As I watch the NBA finals I get chills. When I watch what kind of preparation these athletes go through for the final game, game 7, the most important game of their professional lives. I feel like I'm walking in their shoes. I live vicariously through Lebron James and Dwayne Wade. Hoping for that NBA championship. On the contrary, I have a huge advantage to these heroes of mine that are under the bright lights. I'm on a championship quest as well. And if you read this, you are too.

Every day of my life that I am able to wake up and make my own cup of coffee. I feel lucky. Breathing air is an inspiration to me. I feel like brushing my teeth is a privilege. Little things we do every day are taken for granted. I try to appreciate these little things and I want to convey to the people that I love how lucky they are. There are three things I do every day that makes my day a full, productive day. "Number one is laugh. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. And number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears. Could be happiness or joy." Words from Jim Valvano. If you think about these words. A day filled with laughter, thoughts and tears. That's a full productive day. If that can be done every day. Life will be special.

The advantage that I have to Mr. James and Mr. Wade is without a doubt, a selfish one: Every day for me is Game 7. Some days are wins. When I can get out of bed with a spring in my step and accomplish my daily chores. Some are losses when cups of coffee and a beautiful, breezy Hawaiian day can't get me out of my apartment.

Life as I see it is a boxing match. Every morning when I look at myself in the mirror, I mentally prepare myself for the boxing match. My conscience is the Voice of Muhammad Ali. The Challenger: LIFE. I say to life like Ali announced to Foreman while in the same room. (Banging on the Congo drums.) "THE CHAMP IS HERE!! THE HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD IS HERE!!"

Every day is Game 7.

 July 13, 2013---The Lotus Flower
 

The power of positive thinking is powerful. As I continue to write about myself and put my thoughts on paper, I wonder what my life will be like in the future. My thoughts are consumed with the fear of cancer recurrence and/or another sickness. I wonder if I will be able to father my own child and most importantly I wonder what my basketball skills are like. As I dig mentally deeper and search for strength within myself. I realize that if I fill my head with positive thoughts. Positive things happen. It has been scientifically proven that an affirmative thought is 100 times more powerful than a negative thought.
Cancer treatment sucks. I have probably 15 different inconveniences that I want to complain about but, I won't. Nobody likes people who complain Instead, I prefer to stay positive. I want to whine about the pain. Today I choose to stay silent and focus on the positive things. Every time I get knocked down, the four letter words creep in: quit, cant, stop. It's time to get up.
My energy has been focused on life after treatment. What I'm going to do after treatment. How life will be for me after treatment. Cancer is a challenge. It challenges every square inch of life.
Some of the most beautiful things in the world come from the ugliest foundations. The lotus flower: a sacred, beautiful flower with deep spiritual meaning. The lotus flower grows from its own pile of mud. Butterflies are so beautiful that the ancient Egyptians permanently carved their beauty into their hieroglyphs. Before a butterfly grows its wings, it spends its time as a caterpillar until it matures into the flying beauty.
As I see it, I'm the seed stuck in the mud. I feel like the hairy worm crawling around storing my nutrients. I'm reaching for the sky. I'm soaking up as much knowledge as I can while I'm down here in the mud. I know that one day soon I will be able to fly.
I’m not the smartest person in the world. I’m not the prettiest. I know I'm not the richest. For the time I've been here in this proverbial mud: getting cut open, pricked, prodded, injected, bleeding, burned and embarrassed. Pain to me doesn't come from a knife or a wound anymore. To me, pain is a lesson. Wisdom often comes with pain.

I write these thoughts because I hope that whoever reads this can see things differently. I see people who can't see past their cell phone screen. I was guilty of that. My message is to appreciate and respect the struggle.

'Sometimes our greatest struggles are between where we are and where we want to be.' - Rashida Rowe

Aloha,
Kenny T.

August 6, 2013---Picture Perfect
 

Sitting on a fake, deteriorating, peeling leather couch. Trade winds blowing through the 267 square foot apartment. Inhale the potpourri of the neighbors cooking their delicious, greasy breakfast. The sound of the sirens and cars are the soundtrack to this beautiful moment in time where everything is picture perfect.

The previous paragraph isn't most people's idea of paradise. Paradise is a state of mind. Right now, I sit here connected to a pump that blasts me full of toxic drugs. I'm a 27 year old cancer patient and I'm in paradise. Oh how times change.
Happiness and joy to a 26 year old boy is a lot different. I thought money paid to take me to paradise. I thought that happiness was whatever helped put a smile face. Including alcohol. Joy to a 26 year old single boy was filling his phone full of different girls' phone numbers.
The present day 'me' isn't infatuated with liquid possessions. Quick relationships or how many friends I have. The present day, 27 year old cancer patient, manufactures a smile when my friends get what they work for. I get excited to hear about my co-workers daily successes. I cry tears of joy when my parents win a horse race because I know how much heart and effort they put into their work, their passion.
Things now are not important. People now are much more valuable. The relationships we build throughout our life last forever. Relationships are priceless. My paradise is knowing that I have people that truly care about me.
I hear all the loud noises; I can smell my neighbor’s gourmet meals being cooked. I stomp on my pet cockroaches when they decide to come out and watch TV with me. I'm happy to be able to experience these details. There are many things that I don't have. To some people, it’s called being poor. I consider myself rich. Rich with opportunity. Life began when I realized how easy it is to die. My fight with cancer is halfway over. My life is just beginning.

 

 September 9, 2013---Heroes
 

Without a solid foundation, a house is not worth building. Comparable to a man. Without a solid foundation a man will struggle to succeed. My personal foundation was laid by my heroes. My heroes shaped my life and prepared me for my battles.

Every time we are faced with a challenge, we have a choice. We can choose to accept the challenge or not. As my Cancer challenge winds down. People pat me on the back and tell me how brave and tough I am. I accept the praise but I couldn't overcome without the guidance and strength from the people that poured the cement.

My mother and father raised me with tough love and trusted me with lots of important responsibilities. My mom raised me through the toughest part of a young man’s life, puberty. She suffered lots of hormonal outbursts from me and endured enough pubescent reactions for any one parent. She still loved me and still made sure I had a roof over my head. My father wasn't around much but I know why he wasn't. He wanted to put food on the table for my mom, sister, and me. If my dad thought we didn't have enough he would go to work. Whatever it took. If he had to sell horse feed and bedding to make a penny. He would. If it took 10 hours to make enough for dinner. My dad would work for 12. It took a few years for my dad to say he loved me. Actions speak louder than words. My dad showed me how he much love he has through his work. Thanks dad. I love you too.

The first man to tell me "I love you" that wasn't a family member was my high school basketball coach. He had a weird way of showing me how much he loved me. At the time I didn't understand why he kept telling me that he loved me. He never gave me much playing time. He never ran plays for me. When I made mistakes I got punished. When I farted, I had to run. When made a joke, I ran lines. When I stole beer from 7-eleven, I got my jersey taken away. When I tore my ACL he said I should just quit. After he gave me my jersey back he said I would never play varsity. He always told me two things I will never forget. "Discipline is something that you do for someone." And he would tell me "Kenny, don't forget, I still love you." Thanks Coach. I love you too.

I cannot discount my family from my list of heroes. My grandfather showed me how to live with class and taught me how to have good taste in everything, including clothes and women. My grandmother showed me how to love everyone and everything. My brother would beat me up and teased me and also taught me how to get what I want. My sister is my biggest fan. She is always looking out for me and always wants to help me with my love life.
My aunts and uncles are always caring and always accommodating. Without their love, it would be a tough road.

The one person who has been through it all with me, my side kick, my partner in crime, literally. Is my best friend, Brian. When I talk to people about Brian, one would think that we are a homosexual couple. If I was gay, I would be lucky to have Brian as a boyfriend. I am lucky to have a friend like Brian. We have been friends since middle school. We have done everything together. We stole a hop truck and took it on a joy ride around Yakima. We stole beer from 7-eleven. We've lived together all over Washington state and moved across and ocean together. When Brian needed a roommate, he called me. When I needed help with my car. I called Brian. No matter how far away I am, Brian has my back. As tough as some people think I am. Most people don't know that I have support from the best friend in the world.

I'm sitting and writing this in a familiar place, the chemo chair. I'm thinking about how long it's been and what I've been through. This letter is for everyone who is applauding me through my battle. I couldn't do it without the support of my heroes.
 

 September 23, 2013---Competition
 

I was born into competition. My family's life is based on competition. Thoroughbred Horse Racing is an extremely competitive sport. I’m the little brother that wanted to be better than my bigger, faster, stronger brother. I play sports; I've been part of teams. I love my job and where I work is very competitive. The main goal with competition is obvious, to win. With competition there is always an opponent. The other horses. The other team. The seller next door. My formidable foe in my personal horse race is something unseen and incredibly tough to put down.
I've been in the gym: sparring, playing one on one, running marathons. Against my opponent; the Brick Wall. I have understood now that brick walls are there for a reason: they let us prove how badly we want things. I want to live. More specifically, I want, No, I'm going to the moon. The more I search for inspiration the broader my horizons get and the horizons become less limited.
My current treatment makes me physically weaker. I feel my body slowly breaking down. My hair is thinning and 2 gallons of milk feels like 10 gallons. Mentally, I get tougher. I'm a big fan of the underdog. The heavy favorites can always get complacent and the favorites can easily walk into a match expecting a win.
The American Cancer Society estimates that 142,820 people will be diagnosed in 2013 and that 50,830 will die from colon cancer in the United States. I make sense of these statistics like I'm reading a racing form or comparing sports teams. The headline: Colon cancer vs. Kenneth J Toye.
If I were a gambling man, I would bet on cancer. This dirty opponent is to blame for lots of my recent losses. This year I've had 24 weeks of chemotherapy. 8 weeks of radiation. I spent 25 days in the hospitals with countless setbacks. 1 failed chemo port that will inevitably produce two gunshot scars in my chest. My surgeon took out all but 2 inches of my large intestine. I will be living with an ileostomy for 6 months. An ileostomy is a procedure that
brings my small intestine above my abdomen so that my waste can flow into a pouching system that I change every 2-7 days. I've had two girlfriends. Keyword: had.
My losses are countless but the fight isn't over. The hospital is a very depressing place. Chemotherapy kills people. My body is failing but, my mind is getting stronger. These brick walls become wet paper walls. My scars become trophies. The women that couldn't handle me become unworthy of the Title shot for the Champion (me). A smart man once told me that some people just "can't stand prosperity." (Dang right Dad)
If you're reading this, you might tend to feel sorry for me. Please Don't. My goal is to inspire with my words. Take it as a reality check. I am thankful for everything and completely happy to have a second chance.
As the underdog and with God as my only referee. The Man in the striped shirt made a mistake by calling a foul. With each mistake I get better. It's the fourth quarter, lots of time for the comeback.

October 8, 2013---The Cowboy
 

I consider myself a Cowboy. I don't wear boots and chaps. I don't own a cowboy hat. I can't rope and I'm not the greatest rider. I'm not your typical Cowboy.
Part of riding a horse includes getting bucked off. Just like any authentic cowboy will tell you about losing their seat. The bucks that you aren't prepared for, get you knocked out of the saddle. There are some people that never get back in the saddle, not because they don't want to but, because they don't have the opportunity.
I got bucked off on November 13th 2012. My stirrups were way too short. I got caught up thinking I looked good. Just as fast as I was high on my horse, I found myself face-down in the dirt. My horse ran away. My clothes were ruined and my pride; eliminated. I laid in the dirt for a few seconds.
I don't fit the description of a Cowboy. (I wear basketball shoes, t-shirts and baseball hats.) I do however, live life by the Cowboy's code of ethics.
I started living my life on November 14th, 2012. Life began for me because I almost died. I picked myself up, mouth full of dirt, dignity stripped. I laced up my cowboy tennis shoes. On that day I was happy to have a choice. I felt lucky to open my eyes and breathe. I knew life was going to be extremely difficult. I also knew I had only two choices: get better or get worse. I mustered up a dirt filled smile. A smile that nobody could see except for the person looking at me in the mirror.
Here I am 27 years old. I’m back in the saddle. I'm on a new horse. A young, powerful thoroughbred. My past performances are suspect to a breakdown and I'm aware of my odds to win. In a few weeks I will be finished with training and poised for a return.
I'm not campaigning to get your money in the betting lines. I have truly enjoyed this journey with all the inconveniences that are included for a cancer patient. I have learned amazing things about myself. I consider my diagnosis a gift. Life has meaning and purpose.
One day I hope I can give someone a leg-up. We only get one life to live. As luck will have it. I got a re-ride, a second chance. The only people who are smart enough to put money on me are the people in the barn. I don't gamble but, before you play the odds on a man, ask the odds maker if they can measure his heart.

These are the Cowboy Code of Ethics:
1. Live each day with courage
2. Take pride in your work
3. Always finish what you start
4. Do what has to be done
5. Be tough, but fair
6. When you make a promise, keep it
7. Ride for the brand
8. Talk less and say more
9. Remember that some things aren’t for sale
10. Know where to draw the line.
11. Keep your heels down!

Love, Kenny T.

 October 22, 2013---Cancer Got Fucked
 

 I've reached the finish line of the most difficult struggle of my life. Cancer has been my friend for the past year and I have been reminded daily of my condition. I try to not to let my weakness affect my 27 year-old life. I admit that cancer got a lot of the "good" of me, temporarily. I cried countless times to myself and my mother. I asked for enough favors in a year than a proud man should. Cancer didn't get the "best" of me. I retained my job and worked full time hours during more than half of my treatments. I kept my positive attitude and more/most importantly, my hair.

Cancer is as painful as the individual lets it be. Cancer will beat someone down if they let it happen. It will test the person mentally, physically and emotionally. Such is life. We all are equipped with a two tiny voices in our minds that whisper; quit, can't, stop, no and don't. We have the luxury of deciding which voice to listen to.

Cancer puts your mind into a very scary and lonely place. I wanted to quit or stop treatment and surgery numerous times. I wasn't certain that I could endure it all. You willed me through the negative. My past experiences guided me through the dark and cloudy days and nights.

The finish line approaches on Wednesday, November 23rd. At 11:40 AM. I will officially be finished with Colorectal cancer treatment and my cancer will be considered "in remission." Unlike winning a championship. There will be no trophy presentation. No Gatorade shower. No monetary bonuses. No new cars. A cancer survivor is allowed one simple, priceless immeasurable thing: the fact that you took death by the horns, wrestled it to the ground and got it hog-tied.

Thank you for being by my side and helping me through this journey. I will forever have an open heart for you and my ears are always open. A flower needs water, light and nutrients to live. Use your Adversities as a seed. Collect those seeds and plant them in the mud. Whatever speck of light you see: reach for it. You never know what kind of fruit will grow.

Our time on earth is short. I started writing because I wanted to remind you to appreciate what you are.
I'm still here.

Cancer-0
Kenneth J. Toye- 1
 

 PHEW-- you made it through 7 months of a cancer patients thoughts in writing! Maybe you can click this link and send him a little love? (It's OK if you have to get up and go blow your nose first...)

http://www.gofundme.com/5hmz48

Thank you from the bottom of OUR hearts :)
Kara and Kenny