I was thrilled to be featured in a recent story by the Calgary Health Foundation. You can read their piece here. And don’t pass up the opportunity to read some of the other motivational stories on the CHF website.
In our interview, Ashley and I talked about my running adventures and my recovery from a series of strokes in the summer of 2017. I shared my experience as a patient at the Foothills Stroke Unit, and what prompted me to write a book about it.
While I’m writing, I will say thanks to those who purchased a copy of my book, Stroke of Luck: My Life in Amateur Athletics. It’s worth reminding my readers of my main messages:
The importance of an active lifestyle
Awareness of the full range of stroke symptoms… remember, “BE FAST”
Support for world-class stroke care at the Foothills Medical Centre
If you haven’t already picked up a copy of Stroke of Luck, it isn’t too late. The book is available directly from me (if you live in the Calgary area), on Amazon, or at any independent bookstore. Speaking of which, let me give a shout-out to Owl’s Nest Books in Calgary!
I’ve been very gratified by the response to Stroke of Luck. Many families are affected by strokes, so my story is one we can all relate to. And don’t forget, funds raised from sales of the book are going directly to support the work of the Foothills Stroke Unit, through the Calgary Health Foundation. It’s a win-win situation!
It will be obvious from the long gap between posts that I haven’t been thinking much about the blog lately. It has been a difficult time on the personal front. I don’t feel like going into the specifics—maybe I will someday.
Several times, I’ve tried putting my feelings into words, never sure if the result would end up in a blog post. Each time I’ve tried, it has been a failure. It’s frustrating, especially since I’m usually not at a loss for words.
Music seems to help. As I write this, I’m listening to Car Wheels on a Gravel Road, a classic album by Lucinda Williams. This is melancholic music. It suits my mood and I think it makes me feel better—it’s hard to say. The lyrics of one of my favourite songs, Time from Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, have been stuck in my head. This verse seems appropriate.
Every year is getting shorter Never seem to find the time Plans that either come to naught Or half a page of scribbled lines
My half pages (not literal, of course—they’re typed on my iPad) have been piling up, as I’ve grappled with anxiety. I’ve been feeling helpless against our overwhelming insignificance. Our impermanence. Our mortality.
North Glenmore Park pathway, April 2024
Then came a breakthrough of sorts. It was in a situation that might not be conducive to finding inspiration. But it was no surprise to me because I was running at the time. Anyone familiar with my story (Stroke of Luck is still available, by the way) will know that running has often been a source of consolation and positivity in my life.
To set the scene, I met a small but hardy group of my teammates at Carburn Park in Calgary for an interval workout. It was a ladder workout, which for those who aren’t familiar, is a session with increasing length intervals. This workout, with intervals of 400m up to 2000m, looked daunting. Each set totaled 5.4k, and Coach Janice had specified 2-3 sets. I had to go back to her to confirm the details because it seemed that she must have miscalculated. This was TOO MUCH!
To add another degree of difficulty, the weather was awful. The threatening sky opened up just as we finished our warmup jog around the lagoon. Clouds turned to rain, then snow. My eyes were being pelted with icy crystals. We were soaked in no time. The temperature hovered just above freezing.
We ran south beside the steel-blue water of the Bow River, and I began to wonder what on earth we were doing. It didn’t help that I was the slowest runner in our group, meaning I also had the pleasure of watching my friends stretch out and away from me as the first set wore on.
As I approached the turnaround point, now miles from my warm car, my mood lightened. I was enjoying this. Even as my vision was being obscured by sleet, my thoughts were becoming clearer. Then, as if on cue, the sun peeked out briefly, casting a warm glow on the wet pathway in front of me. (I didn’t bring a camera on this run—it would have been waterlogged—so I can’t even show you a picture of that special but fleeting moment.)
By now, I was totally on my own. My teammates were out of sight, and the pathway was deserted. I was enjoying the feeling of movement, of being in control. Running was proof of life. I was thriving in what had just a few minutes earlier seemed an impossible task.
Then the following thoughts came into my head, without any prompting:
I don’t have all the answers
Sometimes there are no answers to find
All I have to offer is my best effort
I can only control what I do, not what anyone else does
I eventually made my way back to Carburn, where I caught up with my teammates. They had waited for me—how nice! We were soaked, shivering, and content. We patted each other on the back for getting through this monstrous workout on a rotten night, together. On that day, we were all heroes. Of course, even heroes need to dry off and warm up, so we said our short goodbyes and headed home.
With my mind clear, even if temporarily, I was ready to face whatever challenges were still waiting for me. Running and music and writing can help me figure things out, even if the answers themselves remain elusive.
My Second Running Life 