Things you think are predicable can change so quickly. One minute you are cruising along, swallowed by the moment, seemingly in tune with your life and the universe, then your world completely changes in the blink of an eye. Things that seemed important seconds before become inconsequential and meaningless.
Tick…
We had the whole summer laid out. Races were planned, travel arrangements made, Guide camp for Lauren and hospicing for Amanda setup, separate camping trips with my daughter and wife booked. A fall marathon with Amanda is all confirmed and paid for, only the training needing to be done. Life unfolds as planned.
Tick…
On the first canoe trip with my wife Rosemary in years, everything is perfect. The weather cooperates, the sun warm and the lake water cool. The food is great and the wine with dinner marvelous and view at sunset serene. But as with all trips such as this, Friday slowly arrives and it’s time to pack up the gear and make the journey back to the truck and home again.
Tick…
I’m “Mr. Canoe Head”, lugging our boat and gear to the end of the portage. I lower the canoe and drop the big pack, and pausing for breath, I hear a strange sound. That moment hangs forever as a cusp between life as it was planned and how it now unfolds. For a second I think it’s just a birdcall. Then the horrid realization hits that it’s something else completely. I drop what I’m doing and race up the trail to find Rosie lying on her side screaming in pain. It becomes another moment frozen in time.
Tick…
Training kicks in and first aid skills jump to the fore. I do a quick assessment of the situation, try to comfort the patient and start improvising a splint. Duct tape and a Thermorest are bodged together to stabilize the injury. A short carry to the canoe, some tricky moves to get Rosie in her seat, a shove and we are on the water, moving again.
Tick…
The act of paddling seems to calm Rosie, and to tell the truth, myself. My job is now to keep my wife calm in spite of the pain and to paddle the forty-five minutes to the trailhead. Rosie is a trooper and keeps paddling as well.
Tick…
We beach our boat and call for help. A couple of strapping lads carry Rosie to the truck then help load gear and tie down the boat to the truck. Bumpy roads are not a treat, but we make it to the highway and soon to the North Bay General hospital.
Tick…
12:00 noon on the August long weekend Friday and the waiting room is packed. Wait. Wait. Wait. After examinations, x-rays and medications it’s 4:00 PM, time to set an ankle. Three hours later it’s surgery time. A few more hours and the deed is done, including eight screws and a plate.
Tick…
Saturday. A box of Timbits to the hospital staff, a visit from the surgeon, release papers signed and we are out on the road with a temporary cast, orders to keep the foot up and to visit Joseph Brant Hospital on Tuesday. The long drive home gives us time to reflect on how we are going cope. I’m not sure, but I think we’ll figure it out. All it will take is patience and a little time.
Tick…
I feel like Mr. Mom. There’s not a lot Rosie can do and someone has to do all the lugging. Lauren helps out, but I’m still the “go-do-it” guy. I have a small moment of panic when I realize that I just can’t do it all. It’s time to do the things that are important and to stop worrying about everything that isn’t. I drop band practices, extra duties at work, the club newsletter and most of my running. There just isn’t enough time in the day. I still managed to catch the odd Tuesday Fringe run, the Wednesday run at Foot Tools and my long run in on weekend with Amanda. If we can fit in these few, I still hope to run the Toronto Marathon in September with Amanda, keeping my Boston dream alive. Rosie is the best, letting me steal an hour or two without complaints.
Tick…
We get creative with meals and lunches, I make my first meat loaf and enjoy the serenity of grocery shopping. I don’t enjoy the morning to evening go-go-go, or the lack of rest time. I try to see this as an opportunity for learning and growth rather than a burden. I become comfortable with good enough and if it isn’t, well, too bad.
Tick…
Amanda and I run with Tom Schopf, we run with John Simon and others we meet on the Waterfront Trail. We become Sunday morning regulars and wave at the other regulars. Amanda loves her long run and the requisite cheeseburger after. We take what little time we have and we prepare as best we can, hoping it’s good enough.
Tick…
Race day, September 26, 2004. Crew Chief Pat Peters arrives at our front door at 5:30 AM and helps load bags. Coffee is drank on the road, a parking space is found near the start, gear arranged and a racing buggy is assembled. Frankly, I’m scared. We find the start area, pictures are taken, hugs and good-luck’s are exchanged. We wait for the gun.
Tick…
Four kilometres to go, I’m hurting badly and slowing down. I can feel time slipping like sand through my fingers. I have a choice, I can keep running no matter how painful and have a prayer of finishing under our goal time or I can walk and throw that chance away. It hurts more to let the slim chance of a dream go than it does to keep running. Just when I think I’ve lost all hope, BRC club member Lou Pagotto passes me and shares a few words of support. It was just what I needed, I dig deeper. I hope it is enough.
Tick…
It’s the last kilometre and I’m not sure if I can do it. As I turn on to Front Street and hear the crowd, I feel the power of their voices. It picks me up and feeds me. It’s not until I’m a few hundred metres from the finish arch that I can see the clock and I know we’ve made it. 3:30:13. It’s not a great time, with only 47 seconds to spare, but it is good enough. We are both going to Boston and starting with Team Hoyt. A dream has been won. There is time now to look forward to the challenge in the spring.
Tick…
Rosie is now walking with a hobble and a cane and I’m increasingly freed of all the duties that had to be done. I’m more appreciative of all the little things that make a household work and maybe a little humbled by the support of everyone around us. It has been a challenge, but it’s also been an opportunity to appreciate gifts that change presents us.
Tick…
The events written here took place between July 2, 2004 and October 14, 2004
By Mark G. Collis
November 15, 2004