Uncle Phil: An unconventional love letter to a heckuva guy

 




















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,

Then it's official:
Uncle Phil was a heckuva man.

Two girls and a west coast adventure

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.

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 stinks

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...

This too shall pass.
Right?

A one-knee knock-down!

This is my knee. It hurts. A lot.




There is good news:
It still works. It's not broken. I can walk. All amazing things.
And I hope that I don't forget these things in the coming weeks.

Because... there is some not-so-good news:
I have a partial tear in my MCL and a bone bruise/micro-fracture on my tibia.
In English: I have a sprained inside-knee ligament and a sore leg bone.

In the scheme of things, I am a lucky girl.
"It could be worse," said the radiologist.
"Best case scenario," smiled my chiropractor.

I pouted: But when can I run?


The verdict is still out, but it looks like I'll be sitting on the sidelines until at least July.
6-8 weeks likely.
Rest. (I loathe that word almost as much as the phrase "be patient")
Ice. (my knee's new best friend)
Physiotherapy. (I start Monday.)
A sense of humour. (Laughing at myself is my new routine.)

I had a cry in the parking garage.
Again in the house.
On the chiropractor's table.
And outside the office.

Pity cries. You know, the ugly Poor Me kind that you never really want any one to know you partook in?
Yep. I did that.
Blubbered.
Felt sorry for myself.
Been down that road before.
And went really far down it again.

Dad asked: "So? What's the verdict?"
"The worst!!!!" I sobbed.
"Amputation?" he asked.

He has a way of putting things into perspective. fast.

Lucky for me, positivity is abound in my life.
When I am down, I have pick-me-ups!

You're loved, said dad.
You've overcome much worse, said mom.
You'll have sunshine again, said one friend.
You always beat the odds, said another.

If anyone can rise above, it's you, said yet another.

My own cheering section. How'd I get so lucky?

As the day wore on and the results became familiar, I started to come to terms with it.
It's just a month or two.
It stinks, no doubt about it.
But I need to channel my frustration into positive healing vibes.
I need to give it my all at physio.
Think positively about the future.
And come back with conviction in July with a strong knee and a fearless heart.
I'll be a force to be reckoned with on the tail end of the race circuit this year.

With a fire in my belly, I hobble on...

One week on crutches

Things that are difficult on crutches
- Grocery shopping
- Hills
- Walking the dog
- Getting in and out of the shower, the car, the office, ...
- Navigating around bar stools
- Stairs

Things that make it not so bad
- People holding doors
- The Wheelchair parking spot
- More time to read books

I have massive respect for every other person who is down and out and can't walk and somehow presses on with a smile and conviction.

This is starting to get old for me... 

I feel trapped. I miss running.

I have so many races coming up this summer, so many activities... I'm antsy to get back outside.

One more day until I know what I'm dealing with.

Fingers crossed for great news!

Sunshine, mountains, and a trip back to Square One

After an extraordinarily long grey and rainy winter, the sun finally rose – and stayed – the second week of May. I headed to Whistler on a whim for one last snowboard (ironically for me, the "first" snowboard in 3+ years since hurting my back).

It was 25 degrees at the base. Not much cooler up top.
Three of my friends took to 7th Heaven on Blackcomb Mountain to do some alpine boarding in paradise. I played it cautious, met up with Sean, an instructor at the mountain, and headed up some green slopes for a few hours of lessons.

"I've never been on a mountain this big," I said. Half excited; half terrified.
"We're gonna rip it up!" he said with confidence.
We high-fived.

At the top, skiers and snowboarders were in t-shirts, tank tops, even a few bikinis. It was like out of a B movie from the 80s, minus the fluorescents. I was the only one with a helmet and mitts (safety first!).

The view made me stop in my tracks, lose sense of time, and just fall in love.
Blue sky. White capped mountains. "Wow".

Sean chimed in: "Let's go. Show me what you know."

Uh... what?

I gulped. Then I "showed" him: strapped myself in and started down the hill with a couple of slow and silly pendulum like moves.

"That's it," I said, shrugging. "Those are my moves."

"We'll have you carving again in no time," he said.

Half way down the first run I was switching from toe to heel, going faster, feeling the breeze. Stripped off my jacket and my gloves. It was steamy! And the view.... WHOA!! ... the view was like standing on the top of the world, on a cloud, in heaven and looking out at something so majestic it nearly hurt.

It was the blue gem of a sky with a zig-zag white-cap horizon.

Heaven on earth

I faceplanted.

"What happened?" Sean said laughing, boarding over to give me a hand.
"I got caught up in the view. I forgot I was boarding," I said pulling chunks of snow out of my shirt.
"Yah," he said, pausing. "That does happen here - a lot!"

The hours wore on. More falling. More boarding. More carving. Faster and faster. Less wobbly each time. I was getting my groove back. I felt alive.

"How does it feel?" he yelled over as he carved in tandem down one of the steeper parts of the hill.
"SOOOO awesome!" I smiled back. I couldn't wait to meet up with my friends on the top. I felt strong and confident.

By the second run, my falls were fewer, my stance was stronger, and I had all kinds of confidence.
The sun was shining. The snow was glistening. I was smiling.
Every now and again I realized I was wearing a t-shirt + boarding pants only. And I laughed.
Best. Snowboarding. Experience. Ever!

I was carving through paradise.

Then, another skier fell in front of me (W-a-y in front of me – so far in front it shouldn't have been an issue at all). I got scared, caught an edge, and spun. My legs crossed over each other and my board stuck in the snow while the momentum forced my upper body to keep turning. I wrung myself out like a rag.

My knee felt like it would snap in half.

I finally came to a stop.

"Whoa! You really twisted up there," said Sean. "You okay."

I looked up.
Swallowed tears.
Lied: "Totally."

"Let's get back at it," he said.

"Can you show me that last move again? I think I put my weight in the wrong area." I said feigning interest in a recap.

I was buying myself time to get a grip, pull myself together, forget the pain, and stand up again.
There was no way that I was getting hurt on this mountain, on this day, right before summer.

He showed me.
Then motioned for me to get rolling.

I stood up and my legs shook.

I'm just scared, I thought. It's just because I fell.

I headed down toward Sean.
And I spent the next 45 minutes falling every two turns.
"I've lost my mojo!" I said, lying face up in the snow. slush down my pants, up my shirt, in my face. Hands red with cold.

"You're not really using your left knee" he said. "Put more weight on it."

"Right," I nodded. "Of course."

So I did. It shook. But I made it precariously down the hill.

In 4 hours, I went from terrified to back in the saddle and blissed out to terrified again.
Oh, life. What a crazy rollercoaster you are.

At the bottom again, a text from my friends: a picture of a Corona Margarita on the patio in Whistler Village. Caption: "You've earned this."

We all reconvened on the patio where we stripped down to our long underwear (it was SOOO hot), drank beers and margarita, and reminisced in the beauty of the day.

Celebrating snowboarding bliss!

Adjectives thrown around amid beer sips and fry eating included:
"epic"
"dreamy"
"Stunning"
"f-in awesome!"

We headed back to the chalet for more hot tubbing and BBQing.
I limped a little.
"You ok?" asked a friend.
"Think so" I said.


We pressed forth.

By midnight, we were all zonked. 8 hours in the sun. Too much food. Too much beer. Too much bliss. (Actually, you really can't have enough bliss.)

Sunday morning I woke up with a headache inside my knee.
I know, sounds crazy. But it felt like my knee was having a migraine.
I limped around.
"What'd you do?"

"Must've sprained it," i said.
"You should get that checked out," another friend said.
"yah yah," I sloughed her off and put some peas on it.

With the cars packed and massive hugs had, we all drove home.
Man, that was incredible, I thought.
Then a pang in my knee like spine-tingling jolt. Zing.
I can't believe I boarded in a t-shirt, I recollected.
Another pang – zing – right inside my knee.

I drove straight to the walkin clinic.

"Take off your pants" said the doctor with no personality and all sorts of sternness.
I stripped down. (As a side bar, I think it's weird that a doctor has the authority to tell you to take off your pants and you just do with no questions asked. If a guy asked me to do that in the street, I'd slap him!)

"Well, this could be bad" she said.
I gulped.
"How bad?"
"Not sure," she said

She hooked me up with crutches and anti-infammatories.
Sent me for x-rays and an MRI.

Look ma: I did it again!

MRI results come in on Tuesday.
I'm personally hoping for "minor sprain. you'll be up and running trails again in two weeks."
But the precariousness of my knee and the bubble of pain inside has me slightly worried that I might be in for a bit of an uphill battle.

Still, I boarded in a t-shirt on the top of Blackcomb Mountain!! Highligh of my life!!
So not all is lost.
I'll keep you posted.