2026 Give a Breath 5k: Rain, Dogs and a Three Minute Speech

On June 6, 2026, I was asked to give a two-minute speech at the Give a Breath 5k Walk/Run as a patient living with lung cancer. The event began with torrential rain, but the sun came out just as we started.

Last year, I ran the course and paid little attention to the environment. This year, I mostly walked and jogged, which allowed me to take in the lush greenery, the songbirds, and the friendly dogs. I finished in a "PB" of 53 minutes.

The following is my three-minute speech. A transcript follows below.

Hello, I’m Luc. I’m 56 years old. I live in Vancouver with my wife, Sheryl; we have no children, no pets, and no mortgage. In January 2025, I finished the Disney World Marathon. Two months later, a lump on my neck led to a biopsy that confirmed advanced lung cancer.

People ask if I have wisdom to share. I don’t, but I have observations from falling down a rabbit hole into the "Lung Void," where the air has grown curiouser and curiouser, and everything has gone quite contrary to its original plan.

Observations for Young People

You may smoke, vape, drink, or use recreational drugs. I’m not passing moral judgment; those are legal choices. I’ve never smoked, yet here I am. Having lungs is the only requirement. Add bad habits, and your risk multiplies, in some cases, by more than tenfold. Even if you plan to live forever, life is better without cancer.

Observations for Friends (Who Don't Know What to Say)

I didn’t know the right words when I was healthy, so don’t feel bad if you don’t, either. This is simply how I prefer to be treated. Skip the toxic positivity. Calling me a warrior implies that if a treatment fails, I simply did not try hard enough. Every diagnosis is unique, so spare me the anecdotes and unsolicited miracle diets. Do not comment on how healthy I look; the outside does not match the inside. Just be present; that’s plenty.

Observations for the Mental Health Skeptic

Men, I’m talking to you. Cancer erases mental health stigma. The depression and quiet desire for it to be over are as real as the physical pain. I’m an analytical overthinker, but I put myself through the paces: mindfulness, CBT, the Callanish retreat, psychiatry, and medication. Despite my skepticism, I found something resembling peace. Be open to it.

Observations on the In Between

Thank you to the medical professionals trying to keep us alive. And thank you to the caregivers, who are constantly underestimated. Sheryl is my guardian angel; she gives meaning to every breath.

I would like you to remember the words of Eddie Vedder from the Pearl Jam song, “I Am Mine”:

I know I was born and I know that I'll die
The in between is mine
I am mine