I bawled.
I outright lost my shit.
I screamed a little.
I bit my lip.
I cried. Stopped. And cried some more.
I curled up.
I looked at the sky.
I was mad. Sad. Angry. Regretful. Anxious. Sick.
Heartbroken, most of all.
Crushed to the core.
I knew one day it would come, but I didn't see this coming.
Totally oblivious.
Blind.
Possibly even ignorant.
I said "he's looking well" whenever I saw pictures.
Gaunt.
Frail.
Old.
He didn't look well at all.
I pretended that lifetimes were infinite.
That love prevails over nature.
That the universe doesn't take away good things.
But ignorance is bliss for only so long.
Uncle Phil left today.
To somewhere peaceful, I hope.
Where baseball isn't a sport, it's a lifestyle.
Where horses race hourly and powerfully.
Where hardcover fiction is plentiful.
And reading lamps are in abundance.
"Kimmy Kimmy Kimmy"
I can hear him.
His deep voice.
His wide eyes.
Arms spread.
No one gets away with calling me "Kimmy"
Especially three times over.
Except Uncle Phil.
He gets a pass.
He says it.
Always in 3s.
And somehow it's my favourite word.
Uncle Phil had magic like that.
He was full of shit.
Never wanting me to worry.
(I worried.)
Never wanting me to doubt.
(I doubted.)
Always wanting me to stay optimistic.
(I didn't.)
I'd say "How are you? Are you well?"
He'd answer "Let's talk business, kid. How's work?"
Clever.
Evasive.
I'd thrust my fists in the air
in frustration! "Uncle Phil!"
His smile was wry.
His armour thick,
I let him shield.
Because it hurt less.
And we smiled more.
"You have something special, Kimmy Kimmy"
He said to me over bacon and eggs
at a dingy diner last year.
"You're not so bad yourself," I said.
We cheersed our empty OJ glasses.
He smiled
Let out his signature "ha!"
and rolled his eyes.
"You're something else, kid."
Truth is
He was something else.
An imperfect man by all accounts.
Too angry sometimes.
Too stubborn.
He was weak, too.
And when he fell, he fell hard.
He was a human being
like the rest of us.
And yet, he found time to
Compliment
Dole out advice
Laugh
Lead
Love
Teach
Push
Listen
Suggest
Believe
Share
Hug
He inspired
a girl with big dreams
and zero confidence
to stand tall
to strut
to demand
to believe
to just do it
and get it
and achieve it
because she could.
Because he believed.
It's a Friday morning.
Five days before his birthday.
10 days after I didn't bother to stop in and say hello
To a man I consider an icon and a goddamn miracle.
To a man I owe a great deal of thanks.
To a man who holds vast real estate in my heart.
Something's missing.
The universe is off kilter.
Things are a bit askew.
If the measure of a man can be determined
by the tears on the cheeks
of a girl who loved him truly,
respected him immensely,
cheered for him intently,
believed in him solidly,
learned from him continuously,
Sometimes, when a girl is wallowing in self-pity, the best medicine is an adventure.
Three weeks ago, my cousin showed up in BC. We had pre-planned the trip. we were calling it Kim and Sherie's Big Adventure Weekend.
We were going to run! kayak! workout! hike! explore!
Then I tore my MCL.
I sent her a picture of me in crutches. "Change of plans", I wrote.
"We'll make it work," she said, ever the optimist.
I haven't seen Sher in probably 8 years.
We are exact replicas of each other: lovers of sports and stubborn as all heck. We are tomboys and go-getters. We like challenges and adventures. We've completed in triathlons, duathlons, and runs together.
We've shared our love for training and fitness.
We should really hang out more.
So after 8 years, we hit the ground running (well... hobbling).
On the way to Tofino
First stop: Tofino.
The usually 5-6 hour trek to this little piece of paradise on the west coast of Vancouver Island went by so quickly. We gabbed on the ferry as the wind blew in our hair. We laughed in the car as we wound around the mountainous roads on the edge of the continent. We took turns catching each other up on 8 years of life and love and family and career. We saw bears and deer and raging waters. We stopped to do cartwheels on the beach (well, she did) and to breathe in ocean air.
I've never really been a road tripper – i always love the destination more than the trip.
Sunset in Tofino
But this trip was like 6 hours of tea with an old friend and a warm heart. It was magic.
We stayed at the Tin Wis in an oceanfront room. We watched the sunset as we ate. We joked around as we explored the town. We woke up early and did a workout on the beach.
Mine pansier than hers as I nursed my knee. But we were out there, doing bicep curls with rocks, situps on beached logs, and pushups in the sand. (That girl has pipes!)
We ate breakfast as the waves crashed on the shore outside. We watched seasoned surfers brave the cold Pacific waters and carve moves on waves that made us jealous.
On Long Beach, Tofino
Then we packed our bags and headed to the east coast of the island.
Our next destination: Qualicom Bay and a bucket list item for Sher: Spirit Spheres.
Owned and manufactured by Tom Chuleigh, these beautiful spheres are hoisted up in tall Douglas Firs on his property. They are suspended pieces of paradise.
When we first arrived, we thought we might be "roughing it". But far from it. Tom gave us a tour of our sphere (Eryn).
We climbed up a spiral stair case around the trunk of a douglas fir. At the top, a mini draw bridge took us to the "front door". Inside was a double bed, a loft, two bench seats and a table, a sink, a fridge, wi-fi, and even a stereo with surround sound. It was paradise in the sky.
Eryn – our sphere!
Me in our sphere!
Rosie, Tom's wife, made us a "snack" – a platter full of homemade muffins, granola bars, chocolates, pastries, fruit, and champagne. Tom whistled as he delivered it to us. We smiled widely with the friendliness and beauty of this place.
There was a compost toilet beneath the sphere and a bathhouse 100 meters away – complete with flush toilets, sink, showers, and even a sauna! There was a kitchen and barbecue. We were spoiled!
We suited up for a nice local hike that was short and easy on my knee yet beautiful and lush all the same.
We came across an abandoned railway bridge high above the river, climbed up, and did our best Stand By Me impression:
It was slightly terrifying and totally exhilirating. We could see through the tracks to the river below. And we could see miles out – forest and ocean and towns, oh my! Luckily there was no running or crying. ha!
We walked back to our sphere, grabbed the car, and headed out to another sunset dinner overlooking the Strait of Georgia (in between Vancouver Island and mainland BC).
After beers, a veggie burger, and a sauna, we put on our jammies and the surround sound stereo, cracked open the champagne, and enjoyed a riveting game of cribbage – Sherie schooled me. She's a bit of a hustler. And I'm fairly certain she practiced religiously before she flew west. I'll get her next time.
In the morning, we packed up again! On the go!
The ferry ride back to Vancouver was spectacular: a pod of killer whales followed in the wake. The sun shone brightly and we tanned on the deck.
We might not have been kayaking or embarking on a day-long hike in the interior, but it was a beautiful adventure.
Next stop: Vancouver Seawall!
Me and Sherie on the seawall
We decided to explore this great city by bike and suited up for ride around the seawall, 20km or so around beautiful Stanley Park, under the infamous Lions Gate Bridge, past English Bay, Second Beach, Third Beach, and Burrard Inlet.
We stopped to laugh, to chat, to eat sushi, and relish in the beauty of the day.
We saw seals, blue herons, and a guy on a bike about 20 feet tall. Like a circus act except he was just out for a pedal like the rest of us (I love Vancouver for this reason. It's not odd to see this. It just "is".)
Final destination: Whistler!
The next day, we headed Northwest to the skiing mecca for a sweet taste of what was left of winter.
It was raining at the base and snowing so thick at the peak that we couldn't see the vast mountains around. Still, it was perfect for snow angels and snowballs – and hot chocolate laced with baileys. So not all was lost!
We hopped on the Peak 2 Peak gondola – the world's longest unsuspended ride in the world – 4.4 km between Whistler Mountain and Blackcomb Mountain.
We spent most of it sitting in a sea of white clouds that opened up sparsely to show us pockets of mountainsides and even a grazing black bear. (Wildlife came out for Sherie at every chance this trip!)
The thick clouds and precipitation meant that the view stunk (it's usually breathtaking), but the company was exceptional!
We went from sunshine and bikinis to snowfall, fog, and layered clothing in the span of a day and a half! It's what I love most about this lovely left coast – it's all here.
"This is one of the most beautiful places I've seen," said my cousin after our whirlwind adventure.
"That's why I live here," I said.
Thanks for comin' out, Sher! We had an adventure after all!
Next stop: Austin, Texas!!
My dad is a great dad. He's my pops. My papa bear. My number 1. He's fearless. He's fun. He's genius-smart. He's level headed. He's totally insane. He's honest. He's brave. He's totally not perfect in the most perfect way. He's hilarious. He's ridiculous. He's full of heart. He's knowledgeable. He's helpful. He's healthy. He's a sounding board. He's inspiring. He's admirable. He's approachable. He's simple. He's layered. He's huggable (oh so very much) He's a soft place to fall. He's my number one fan. He's a cheerleader. He's proud. He's loving. He's tough. He's consistent. He's Switzerland. He's China. He's cozy. He's home. And, best of all, he's there. Always. No matter what. No matter when. For tears and laughter, inquisition and anger, uncertainty and self-doubt, fun and silliness, heartbreak and heart ache, happiness and excitement... My dad is there for me. For all of it. If only every girl could be so lucky. Thanks, dad. I am who I am today because you were and continue to be there for me. I leap because of you. Thank you for steering me right, Papa Bear. A greater man there never was.
Patience.
It's true. It's a virtue. I get it. But I don't have it. Not this time.
It's been 4 weeks and 1 day since I tore my MCL and bruised my tibia on a sweet ride down Blackcomb Mountain in a t-shirt and snowpants.
4 weeks of "resting" per doctor's orders.
Elevating per my physiotherapist's insistance.
And "avoiding strenuous activity" per the radiologist's expertise.
I've been diligent (for the most part) with doing nothing.
For ONE WHOLE MONTH.
I've been stretching and doing mobility exercises. The kind of stuff you see rehab patients doing in pools.
It's boring. But it's important.
I feel sluggish. And squishy.
I was signed up to race a 6.9k trail race at Alice Lake on Saturday.
I've been looking forward to it since I signed up in April. Maybe I'll just do it, I thought. I'll go slow. Take breaks...
The devil on my shoulder was egging me on.
Then I heard my doctor's voice: No running for 6-8 weeks. No intense exercise. Keep off that knee!
You can totally run this race, the devil rebutted.
I was at a crossroads.
I really wanted to run. Needed to run. HAD to run.
But I knew I shouldn't run. Couldn't run.
I was stuck.
My heart said Yes.
My knee said No.
My brain said Listen to your knee.
My heart replied Shut up, Brain.
So I did what any other girl stuck between a smart move and a heart move would do, I consulted my Magic 8 Ball.
I shook with heart and asked aloud: "Is running tomorrow a good idea?"
(I REALLY miss running, I added as a caveat to impress upon the magic.)
The 8 Ball gave it to me straight: "My reply is No".
I sighed.
The 8 Ball never steers me wrong.
It was right about that boy I met on the subway, Harley's ear infection, and the pitch I pulled an all-nighter for.
So... I went to bed.
I didn't set the alarm.
I didn't pre-juice my pre-race kale-ginger elixir.
I didn't feel nervous.
The morning came.
I got up.
I walked Harley. Leisurely.
Ate breakfast.
Did a few sit ups.
Went to work.
Literally said "Ho hum".
I thought about Alice Lake a-l-l day.
The feeling I get from the challenge of tearing up a tactical incline and blazing down the other side.
The joy of zig-zagging through roots and around mud puddle and through streams.
Patience stinks, I thought to myself.
So I decided to do something about it.
I laced up my runners and headed out for a run.
A jog really.
A trot.
It was a bad idea. And I knew it from the get-go.
My knee throbbed.
I pressed on.
It swelled.
I kept running.
It buckled.
I hobbled forward.
I put in just under 5 k.
It took me 42 minutes.
I felt miserable.
My knee was the size of a grapefruit.
The pain was persistent.
I put my knee up.
Iced it.
And shook my head at my own stupidity.
Why can't I just be patient?
The thing is this: 4 weeks is a long time to be idle.
Especially because I just crested a near 3-year hiatus from activity where I diligently embraced the P word and patiently (and arduously) waited and worked to get back to running. I worked so hard. I waited so long. I was in the dip, leaning forward, pressing on patiently for three long years.
I earned that 5k in March and the 8km trial run in April. I earned a weekend of snowboarding with my friends and biking around the seawall. I was finally on top of the world and my hard work paid off. And it felt good. Great actually. Incredible. Like Kim circa 2009. Like my heart was fulfilled.
And just as I was at my peak – feeling strong, moving faster, feeling healthy... this happened.
And I'm feeling a little sorry for myself (as these things usually go).
So I huff.
I puff.
I sigh.
I whine.
I cry a little.
I wallow.
And I'll go to bed another night, and try, try, try to be patient tomorrow...
