Me – “Monday will be 50 degrees. I’ll ride ½ my route and then take two shots of the inhaler. Give it 5 minutes then ride the second half. I’ll call you when I’m done. If no difference and I feel good, I’m done. If there’s a difference, it’s Reactive Airway Disease and I’ll deal with it and we’ll monitor for a few more weeks or months.”
My doctor looks at me. “Your lungs sound good down deep. I have faith in you. How do I tell my other patients to keep motivated and keep pushing like you?”
Me – “Tony and Mandy.”
“I’m sorry. Who?”
“You ever hear of a band called Black Sabbath? Tony Iommi was supposed to go on tour with his first band when he was a kid. He went back to work after lunch on his last day of a factory job and a metal sheer took his fingertips off his right hand. Of course, he is a left-handed guitarist, so his right hand did all the work. Had he done what anyone else would and just gone home early, he never would have been there to lose his fingers.
Then the accident.
He lost the tour and his chance at stardom. He should have quit guitar playing. Instead, a friend brought him a record album of Django Reinhardt, the two fingered gypsy guitarist. He found inspiration instead of self-pity. Tony taught himself to play again with melted down bottle caps as thimbles on his badly destroyed and exposed bony fingers. He used lighter strings and retuned his guitar. He thought he was figuring out a way to keep doing what he loved. His new band was called Black Sabbath. What he did was create the sound we would later call heavy metal. He could have quit. He should have quit. He didn’t. “
“Mandy Harvey was a music student who lost her hearing in college. She should have blamed God, the world, and everything around her for stealing her dreams. Instead, she took her shoes off to feel the bass and drums through the floor. She used muscle memory and an electronic pitch tool to sing again even though she could no longer hear her own voice. Today she has a recording contract. She could have quit. She should have quit. She didn’t.”
“And you want to know if I will ride my bicycle 30 miles on a semi-cold winter day to do this test? I am facing NOTHING that others have not faced and conquered with more grace and skill than I EVER will. If that man can face the loss of his body parts and all the skills he had mastered, and then go on to define an entire genre of music; If that woman can have her dreams shattered by illness and lose one of her senses that’s vital to her skills and not only continue to write and play music, but obtain a record contract and achieve more than most of us – who possess all our senses – there is no way in hell that I can tell you I won’t pedal a bike and perform this test as soon as possible. My challenges are minor bumps in the road compared to what others have faced and surmounted. I’ll call you on Monday afternoon.”
“Tell your other patients – Tony and Mandy.”
I have been given a gift and I have learned, the only thing in my way is me.
I don’t mind telling you my eyes welled with tears. It was hard to fight back and keep it from running down my cheek. It must have been 10 seconds before I took a breath, but it felt like 10 minutes. I was just told my wife does NOT have cancer. A recent medical issue has thrown yet another tailspin at my household. We don’t have every answer yet, but we have the big ones. So, I stop on the way home and pick up a cake. Silly, yes? It’s more for my daughters and we’ll just say mom had a healthy check-up, but tonight we celebrate.
It’s hard for me not to eat the cake, but I sat with my youngest – and ate grapes instead of cake. Jocko Willink says, “Those donuts aren’t food. THEY ARE POISON. Same with the chocolate chip cookies, the chocolate cake, the can of soda, the bag of potato chips….All that junk isn’t going to make you stronger, faster, smarter or better. It’s going to do the opposite. And you know this. YOU KNOW THAT YOU DON’T NEED ANY OF THAT JUNK.”
So, I stay strong,
I’m a heart patient. I am and will always be this. I cannot undo it. This isn’t a job. It’s not Monday through Friday and I get to punch a clock and walk away from it. This is my life. It’s Monday through Monday 24 hours a day, and no one is going to step in and fix it for me. No one can say, “It’s OK Craig. You’ve worked out. You’ve eaten well, you can take a break from that now.” My heart and my cardiovascular system don’t care what the reasoning is. It’s lined with narrowing deposits that could not care less about how someone feels about something.
So, I stay strong.
My niece sends me a message. It’s about camping in August. Where will we explore? Will we hike a mountain? How big is it? Is it a scary mountain? The questions pour in. She tells me how much she’s looking forward to packing things for our outings. We’ll need water and sandwiches and some snacks too. I need to be ready because little girls have big dreams and make big plans. My daughter needs me to be the cool dad who powers across the lake with each kid to a hidden destination full of summertime forest wonder. Then I need to get up the next day and take them on a hike and go exploring. They are depending on me.
So, when my will fades and I’m ready to give in I think of what my goal is. Being here. Being better. Not better than the next guy. Being better than I was yesterday. Better than I am today.
The kids are in bed and my wife and I enjoy peace and quiet as the clock hands point upright. “You want cake?” I reply, “No. It’s for you and the kids. I don’t need it.”
I don’t get to punch out from being a heart patient, and I don’t want to. I will fuel my body correctly and feed it what it needs to ride my bicycle farther. I’ll use that to paddle my kayak longer. I will bring the kids greater adventures. Someday I won’t be here, and I will only survive in their stories. One day I’ll be the uncle that a grandmother tells her grandchild about, who took her all over the place. My name won’t even be used and even if it is, it will mean little – But I will survive. I will survive in those stories and those stories won’t happen unless I do what I promised.
Two and a half years ago I came home from the hospital. I awoke the next day and stared at my Cheerios in 1% milk and my tasteless coffee with fake cream and hated my life. I stared with disdain and regret. I never understood runners who spoke cheerfully while eating fresh fruit and downing a cup of almond milk for breakfast. Who broke them? Why would they torture themselves?
Then I had the loaded .45 placed against my head and I was forced to change, cold turkey. More correctly, the barrel of that weapon was placed against my heart, with a finger on the trigger. The choice to pull was mine. So, everything went. My diet went in the trash. Like sweeping the table clear of every edible item that was unhealthy and watching it tumble into a dumpster at the end; I watched the fatty, greasy foods tumble away and said my sad goodbyes.
I was broken hearted (literally), but I found love again. I fell head over heels in love with bicycling and fitness. Like a Disney prince who melts and folds upon looking into the eyes of his princess, I would find passion in cycling, ride and fix myself. I would change my diet and my mindset, all but to have her hand, to kiss her face, and touch her perfect skin. I vowed to fix me.
Goggins and Willink showed me how to focus and fuel my body for better health and performance. As my diet evolved, my vision grew better. I no longer viewed food as entertainment, but fuel; fuel for the purpose of repairing my body and firing locomotion.
Years ago I traveled the world. Hotels fed me grand breakfasts. I piled waffles high with butter and syrup, blueberries and strawberries, whipped cream made from heavy cream and sugar. What else can I throw on? Give me that bacon and a slice of fatty ham! Pile it on top and throw on a scoop of ice cream for good measure. Wait ’till you see the alcohol I can consume tonight. My blood will be sterile and the germs from this foreign land will be killed off, not from my immune system, but from the drink that flows in the pubs and bars after work – for the next 4 to 8 weeks!
The wheels of my 747 or 777 will touch down in America and I’ll walk proudly through customs and plan my home coming celebration. You’ve seen it in the color photos of National Geographic, but my feet have walked that land. Sometimes I would stop long enough to think that I am the first, the very first, of anyone in the long line of generations of my family, to set foot in the countries in which I have worked. I would think to myself, “I have done something pretty amazing and there is still celebration to come”.
‘The company is paying’ so my reward dinners would be grandiose and lavish as well. I dined on the most tender meats drenched in sauces, paired with complimentary drink, and finished with rich dessert. I was thanking and rewarding myself for a job well done. The thick smoke from a fine after dinner cigar would fill my lungs and the air around me. Like a junkie piercing needle into vein the momentary pleasure satisfied my desire, but was slowly killing me. I didn’t know.
Today my diet is so vastly different, and my air is smoke free. Looking back, I can’t recognize where I’ve come from. If you asked me to change it back then, it never would have happened, but I was lucky. I had the sense knocked into me. I was forced and I had a desire.
I used to joke that we are alive because someone in our family survived every war, every famine, every plague, every storm, and every challenge on the face of this earth throughout human history. I’ve worked around the globe at Intel, AMD, Samsung, Hyundai, LG, Sony, Mitsubishi, Symbios NCR, Philips, Siemens and more. I used to think it was because I was good at what I did. Partly true. Really, I was given the opportunity because I was here. I was here because two people fell in love. They were each here because two people fell in love before them. So, yes. I’m here and traveled this great earth because two people fell in love. Over and over and over again, throughout the history of mankind. Each a love story. Some tragic. Some cruel. The vast majority of which I will never know, but certainly some were more amazing than a story book and I am only here because of them.
This morning my breakfast is comprised of a fairly heart healthy waffle and an incredibly rare syrup made as part of batch of only six gallons a year from a local New Hampshire farm. The 50 gallons of sap is cooked down over 40 hours to make it. My nurses and dieticians allow me the sugar due to my dedication to exercise. The butter substitute is fat free and so is the silky nitrogen infused creamer for my coffee. It is my decadent Sunday breakfast, and it is glorious to tastebuds now geared to the absence of fats. That silly waffle maker means more to me than you’ll ever know. Most could never understand.
I stared at those Cherios two and a half years ago hating the life I saw before me. If I only knew that day – where I would find myself now. Longing to get out on the road. Longing to cycle. Like missing the sound of her voice and dying to see my princess again – I yearn to take two wheels to the road. To make my muscles burn and my body sweat. To go faster. Go farther. Push just a little more than yesterday. I had no clue as to just how amazing this volume of my story was going to be. And I’m just a dad.
I implore you to find yourself a passion that ignites you. Find yourself a reason to strive harder. I’m no Disney prince, but I play the fool just as well. I found a way to fight through this and a crush that pulls me back into a heart healthy life, again and again. Even when I stumble. Even when I go off course. Like the eyes of my princess. My crush reels me in and I am defenseless. I wear spandex cycling gear, eat fresh fruit, and drink almond milk. A party is maple syrup on a waffle washed down with delicious coffee.
Sometimes I thank God I became a heart patient.
Remember, 100 years ago this surgery didn’t exist. There was no heart lung machine. You’ve been given something your ancestors were not. They say, in a world of ordinary be amazing. No. In a world of ordinary you are spectacular! You need to know this and you need to embrace it on your worst days. Fight to be here. Even if you don’t write or journal, even if you don’t post often. Tell your family. Tell your friends. Your story needs to be told. You’re here because two people fell in love, then two more, then two more. It was repeated over and over and over again, since your family tree first came into being.
Because of that: You. The product of an amazing lineage.
Then you survived open heart surgery. Don’t let that go to waste.
The wind cuts my neck like a thin sheet of ice on a still pond. I tilt my head downward and I’m greeted with mild relief. It’s amazing what a couple of degrees can do. The chin bar of my helmet now blocks and disturbs the cool September windblast just enough that the icy knife edge is dulled. For a moment I feel smart and cunning. The feeling passes the moment I catch a bug on the cheek. The 65 mph impact stings and I wince. Too bad I hadn’t thought to mount my clear visor. I could have it down at night, but I was either too vain or too thoughtless to mount that one instead of my tinted and iridescent one. So I suffer the periodic sting and blow to my ego.
Ego is good. It helps us grow and take chances. I watch my 7-year-old bound off to 2nd grade ready to take on the world. She hasn’t been stung enough to lose faith that she will see all her dreams come true. I watch my 2 1/2-year-old bound across the play structure at a downtown park and she tumbles because she became too trusting that running like a wild woman has no consequences. Egos get bruised and it does us good. We learn we are not flawless. We note our errors and adjust.
As we take to a four lane, I roll the throttle open and shift gears higher and higher. I tuck in behind a fast moving, but steady car. We’re in a less populated zone that’s 20 miles between towns. High speeds are normal, if not exactly legal, out here. Another car passes us. He’s flying. He’s our radar bait. We let him go on ahead so he gets caught first. The car in front of us is doing what I would do, increasing velocity and keeping Speed Racer in sight, but never catching up to him. This is good.
My motorcycle’s engine bellows at high speed, but it’s hard to hear over the wind noise. I reach back with my left hand and wrap my arm around the outside of my wife’s thigh and cup my fingers around her shin just below her knee. I pull her tighter to me and she responds with a gentle squeeze to my sides. We pass Mr. and Mrs. Walter Mitty on the inside. The wife in the passenger seat stares at us. My wife will remark later at a rest stop that it must look so carefree or careless when inside a rumbling cage to see us ripping past. One handed. At speed. Snuggled up. At 90! What is second nature to some is extreme to others.
We stop for dinner, and I swap regular fries for sweet potato fries. I eat my fish with no batter and enjoy my side salad as an option to another greasy standard item. My wife downs a burger. I wonder if my menu choices make me look snotty. Ego check. The bill is settled and we’re on our way. This time we’ve each got an extra sweatshirt under our jackets. Back on the bike and temps are dropping fast.
Through the darkness my LED headlight cuts a swath of clarity. My left thumb switches to high beam and ignites a flame thrower that lights up the road like a TV studio. I think about how far ahead it’s shining. I swear I can see into next year. If only I could have seen that far two and a half years ago.
2 1/2 hours later and it’s midnight as we pull into the driveway. As we put away our things, I ask my wife if she’s concerned about riding with me – a heart patient. She tells me, “I don’t think of you as a heart patient. You’ve raced at speeds others dream of. This ride today doesn’t tax your abilities, it’s pure pleasure.”
I tell her, “Now you’re stroking my ego.”
“No. No. I mean, I don’t think of you as a heart patient when riding or doing any activity with you today. I only think of it with meal planning or shopping. Even then, I’m thinking of you in the health and fitness aspect. What’s going to be good for protein content or great when complimented with sweet potato. You’re not a sick heart patient. You’re just a heart patient. You’re not sick anymore.”
She’s right. Two years ago I was still sick. I had been through hell twice and there was still something wrong. Then I got fixed for real.
If I won the lottery I wouldn’t have done anything differently today. I think about that. We would have taken the same trip and enjoyed the same outing. Actually, I’d do more of them. If my headlight shown two years into the future I’d have been relieved. After all, I’m better than two years ago. I’m better than THREE years ago. But then again, maybe it’s good I couldn’t see it. I needed to be scared straight. Scared enough when I got the, “We can make you comfortable” speech that I suddenly saw the ghost of Christmas Future and I was Ebenezer backpedaling and promising to change everything about my lifestyle and my mindset if I could have one more day and undo the chains I’d forged in life.
I’m lucky. They were wrong. A third procedure would fix me.
When this first started, almost two and a half years ago, I was scared about what my future had to offer. My question was not whether I would road race or drag race a motorcycle in competition again. I questioned if I would ever ride again – at all. Today I took a trip to see something important to my wife and her family (look up Mohawk Park) and see something for me (look up Hoosac Tunnel). We ventured through three states and a crazy amount of miles. We saw amazing sites and were immersed in the world around us. It’s something you can only experience on two wheels. Where scents invade your helmet: cut grass, railroad ties, farmland, campfires. And environment assaults you: rain, wind, cold, and heat find every crack and gap to sneak in and touch your skin.
I’m here. I’m alive and living this adventure. Touching pieces of history like the cold that sneaks into my jacket. On my mantle is a railroad spike from a 5-mile-long tunnel built between 1851 and 1875. 200 men gave up their lives for its construction. I’ve been there. I’ve touched it.
It’s humbling.
My ego is in check. And I’m happy for it. It is only so, because I am alive.
I want to tell every new heart patient this isn’t the end. Some here have called it their second birthday. For me it’s true. My life wasn’t over, it was just beginning. I hope yours is too.
To paraphrase Eric Thomas: Short term thinking says, “The donut tastes good. Eat it.” Short term thinking says,” One work out doesn’t matter. I can skip it.” Short term thinking encourages you to make decisions that hurt you in the long run and they don’t move you toward your overall strategic goals. The more you give in to short-term thinking that yields quick emotional satisfaction, the further from the path you will stray. Don’t do that. Think strategic. Think long-term. You need to get out of bed. You need to run. You need to read and study and practice and you need to do things that you don’t necessarily want to do.
So, last night I worked out and I walked after my girls went to bed. It’s 3 degrees F. That’s -16 C to the rest of the world. Yes, it was hot in the basement with the wood stove going. I was sweating and my skin was glistening in the soft downstairs family room / work out area lighting. My left wrist aching from tumbling down a hill with my littlest while taking her sledding this weekend. Every pound of load on the handles passed through my sore wrist reminding me I’m over 50. My eyes burned from the heat and dryness from the woodstove that was fighting to keep the house warm while my muscles hollered, “What the hell are you doing to me?” Yes, later as I walked my legs froze and my breath formed frost on my facial hair. I wear a mustache and beard and a little strip up my chin. It’s foolish and it’s vanity and it serves no purpose, but it’s perfect for ice to form and cling to me “with screaming agony”.
“Do you really need to walk tonight?” Asks my wife. “Yes” I reply, still wiping sweat from my brow. I made a commitment and I intend to follow through. It’s not pleasant. It’s not comfortable, but I thrive on this. Give me the unpleasant. Serve me discomfort. I will use this to feed my soul and use it as fuel to walk longer and faster. No one ever achieved greatness through comfort. Walking in cold weather doesn’t even come close to the hell some have been through. Compared to what others have endured it’s like crying about a paper cut. I’ll walk.
If I were in a race and I was going up against champions, do you think I would have to give 50%? Do you think 75% or 80% is going to win? If I’m not giving 100%, I’m not going to win.
You’ve got to finish what you start, and this race isn’t for a trophy or a medallion to hang on my wall. The trophy is my life, my freedom, my independence. I need to win this because the prize is ME. If I won’t try to win this race for me, so that I can be here for my kids, then what on earth could ever motivate me? What kind of man decides he’s not going to try to win before the race has even begun?
This is not about being greater than the next person. This is about me being greater than I was before. I believe that today is my greatest day, because this is the day I have lived the longest. Today I will be greater than yesterday because I’m not quitting, and I promise to push today a little harder than yesterday. My friends and family deserve better.
My back is sore. I just moved my kayak before my walk. My kayak is an older Old Town two man “Loon 134”. It’s screaming yellow and affectionately called the big banana. Did I mention it’s heavy? I think the inner rails are filled with lead. I’m fairly certain you can’t buy a heavier kayak. I’m thinking of selling it. My brother-in-law has a ski boat. He takes kids tubing. My other brother-in-law has a Tracker bass boat. He takes everyone fishing. I’m not sure we need this tank of a kayak. I like it, but it’s not exciting to anyone but me. It’s a boat for a heart patient, not for making exciting stories. I have regrets about selling my personal watercraft. I think about this as I walk.
I’m a little disappointed in my sneaker choice too. I left my good Hokas at home and wore my less expensive Asics. It’s not all that wet for a hurricane here in New England. Henri had made landfall and my wife remarked, “You didn’t take in the lawn chairs around the fire pit?”. She was right. I didn’t do it and as a result Henri knocked one chair over. Kind of a letdown for a hurricane. It’s also left us with misty air, but no flooding. No downed trees or power lines. I could have worn the good shoes. I’ll flip that chair up when I get home.
I’m also a little disappointed in myself. I’m not finding any miraculous signs or divine images that inspire my walk. It’s not unpleasant, just an ordinary damp night. Why do I feel I need to see something amazing on every single outing? I guess I’m just getting spoiled.
A week or so ago I got to the end of my neighborhood and saw a spectacular moon rise. It made me think, “How many of these have I missed before? How much do I take for granted?” Miraculous.
There’s a state park fairly close by. It’s far enough away from light pollution. I’ve laid on my back there staring at the sky long enough to catch a parade of satellites while looking for meteor showers. About a month ago I looked up while on my evening walk through my neighborhood and thought how much harder it is to see things like that closer to home. Just then the sky lit up with a streak of orange fireball and sparklers. It looked like a space station was crashing to earth. What a sight. It spoils you.
I was spoiled enough that after the moon rise, I kept my eyes toward the sky looking for just one more shooting star. 15 minutes later I rounded a bend and as the treetops formed a dark blue alleyway of night sky, a single shooting star shot straight down the middle.
My sign. My miraculous.
I thought to myself how I wasn’t even sure where the big dipper was. It had been that long with cloudy skies and rain on nearly every walk this summer, that I had lost track. As I was passing through the area of darkest overgrowth, I noticed a square portal through the trees. Dead center was my big dipper. Holy crap! How does that happen? Skeptics will always have excuses. “It’s just because you happen to notice. It’s coincidence. You’re looking for an excuse. You’re making everyday life into something amazing in order to feel good.” I like making things amazing. I like feeling good.
Tonight, there is no amazing to report. There is no miraculous. There is just gray skies and mist that covers my glasses and distorts my vision. I’ll have nothing to write to you about. I get home and reach for the door handle. My watch buzzes. I have a message.
No explanation. Just photos of my niece’s summer journal pages. Inside is the 3rd grader’s eye view of summer and the best parts of it. Kayaking with Uncle Craig makes the list. She learned to paddle by herself, got to go fishing (a lot) and got to ecsplore(sic). She even got to hike with me. I read the text and then strain to see the graphic she drew. It’s blurry. I’d blame it on the mist on my glasses, except I’m inside now and my glasses are on the table.
My big toe on my right foot feels damp. The chill sets in. Several yards later my left foot feels the creep of cold water that permeates my sneaker. It’s raining on New Year’s Day. It’s 37 deg (3 for everyone not in the USA) and the snow on the ground creates a fog throughout the neighborhood. The mist from the rain makes the distance look hazy and white through the leafless trees. The only greenery before me is the hardy pines that raise their virtual middle fingers at the winter. That said, the snow becomes them.
My good Hokas are inside the closet at home. I’m wearing my Asics because these sneakers are old and are now trash, and I’m okay with water destroying them during the winter and on rainy days. Yes, I actually have shoes planned out for walking conditions. No one should be out here in this weather. It’s cold. It’s wet.
But I’m a heart patient. So I walk.
The coefficient of thermal expansion dictates how much a material will grow or shrink based on temperature. It is expressed usually in millionths of an inch/per inch/per degree F. When questioned if this has any real significance, I often describe the discussion with engineers in my metrology lab at work. I tell them, “You’ve specified that the detector for a CT Scan machine must be located within two thousandths of an inch in any direction. If this room changes 10 degrees, then sitting 40 inches away from the patient’s head that detector will move by five thousandths of an inch.” While five thousandths of an inch is a mere fraction of a spark plug gap, compared to the tolerance applied to this detector – it might as well be 5 miles to the machine. Temperature is important in my world.
You don’t have three sets of walking sneakers because you thought you might take a stroll tomorrow afternoon. You have three sets of walking sneakers because you walk on a regular basis, and they all serve a particular purpose. I made a promise.
I promised that if my surgeons fixed my heart, I would fix the rest of me. I promised my wife that I would not waste a single penny I spent on exercise equipment or accessories for my health and fitness. I promised my kids I would be here for them when they grow up. I promised my friends I would be here for them when they need me. I promised you that I would set an example and when I get knocked down, I would get back up and I would still be here. Moving forward. Maybe not flying on a bicycle. Maybe not running. Maybe not walking. Maybe just barely crawling. Maybe while crying – But I promised I would be here moving forward. I have written checks I have no idea how to cash.
So, I walk.
Jocko Willink says the only thing keeping you in your bed on a cold morning is your mind. David Goggins says the only reason you quit pushing forward is because your mind tells you you’re done. However, your mind is telling you to quit when you’ve only used 40% of your physical capacity. So on New Year’s Day when it’s early, it’s raining, and it’s cold, I’ve got a pair of shoes dedicated for a day like this. I’ve told my mind it’s time to do this.
On days when a 40-inch-long aluminum trailer brace is 13 thousandths of an inch shorter, I’ll walk. It’s New Year’s Day. Some made resolutions to be healthier and to get fit. Some decided that it’s not worth the effort. Others are athletes from long ago and are used to getting up early since high school.
The musty smell of mud and decay in cool wetlands traverses the dark wooded area to my left. In NH coyotes have interbred with wolves and domestic dogs to produce larger creatures that leave big pawprints in the snow and slush. The prints are often mistaken for bears, but while large they are vastly different in shape. The coyotes like to populate this part of the woods and sometimes I find a print.
As I climb the gentle slope, I think of people who’ve posted about exercise and moving like their doctors have suggested. Athletes already have a plan to climb a higher mountain. Those who’ve given up already, have already given up.
But – Those who have taken a step out of nowhere.
Those who are struggling to hear a single voice that tells them it’s possible to change.
Every one of them that wonders if this can get better.
Every one of them that has slipped off course during the holidays and missed some exercise or cheated on their diet.
I think of them, and I want to tell them they can do this.
My feet are cold, and my pant legs are wet. Water trickles from my visor and cascades before my eyes. The fog hugs the snow close the ground creating a scene like that of a scary movie. A tiny leaf is surfing. It rides the stream of water from one side of the road to the other. It bobbles and dances along the way. The majesty of this outing is the doe standing frozen in the thicket. She shoots off and blends into the surroundings before I can snap a photo.
It’s cold. It’s wet. I am encased in mist and my feet are cradled in freezing water. Nobody should be out walking in this. Except, I made a promise. Goggins and Willink showed me how to keep it and I don’t intend to let you down.
So, I walk.
Besides, if I was in bed or working on drywall, I would miss every glorious moment that has passed before me this morning. Happy New Year.
The stove light casts a warm glow over the silverware that sits in the dish drainer by the sink. There’s a resounding Tink-Tink-Tink as my spoon bounces off the inside walls of my coffee mug. At 4:00am I try to keep the noise to a minimum out of kindness to my wife and kids. They don’t need to be up this early. My thumb gets hot and soon my fingertip is burning. I’ve mistakenly chosen an actual silver spoon as opposed to stainless steel. The free movement of electrons in silver is better than stainless steel, thus it conducts both heat and electric current better and faster. A normal stainless spoon would have taken longer to warm and perhaps never risen to same temperature at the finger end. I think about this as I get ready for work. I tend to analyze life and I think about a lot of things.
I place my cell phone in the small center console pocket of my car as I leave. There’s a wrist pin to an engine in the garage that I have to move aside. I’m working on a project for a friend. I run my fingertip over the hard tool steel and the industrial chrome plating. There is a visible polished wear mark in the middle of this pin, but it’s imperceptible to my fingertip. It is perhaps only 40 millionths of an inch deep. It’s visible and measurable on exotic equipment, but not something the human hand can feel. I wonder how many miles it took to make that impression. How long? I believe it occurred within a period of about five years. Not long in the lifespan of an engine, forever in the lifespan of a field mouse. Hard parts. Hard subjects.
Spotify was last left playing my daughter’s playlist. A song comes through my car stereo that was used in a fellow heart Warrior’s video. It makes me wonder how Jenn is doing today. I smile and I wonder if she knows how many people she made smile. If she’s like me she might have questioned if that was a silly thing to post right after she posted it. She needn’t have, but I always question if I posted something others think is foolish or silly. How many people are going to roll their eyes when they see another post from Craig? How many look forward to it?
I need the smile because I know the peaks and valleys of recovery from open heart surgery quite well. When you’re on top of a hill you feel great as you look down at where you’ve been, and yet there’s another ravine to cross and another ridge ahead with a higher peak. When you’re in the forest of the healing, the highs and lows of hills and valleys could not be further apart. As time passes you look back. Like looking down from an airplane over the Rockies, you see the hills and valleys and you appreciate the majestic mountains, but comparatively, it’s all small and distant. It’s hard to discern the highs and lows from 40,000 feet. Sometimes I read a heart patient’s post and it strikes me right back to the days of my recovery. It’s good, because it makes me appreciate where I am.
The miles click by on my odometer as the sun begins to break the horizon. I think about Jolene. She has surgery today. I wonder when she’ll post next. I wonder if she knows I’m waiting to see it, that we’re all waiting to see it. I wonder if Mel has gotten out of the house and started doing the things he loves. I haven’t seen Effie post anything in a while. She’s probably too busy. She is always busy. She never stops moving. I wonder how Noleta is doing. How is her mom? Chris is in California. Her weather has to be better than mine. I wonder how Pam is? Is everything still okay? I laugh at the thought of Joel, like me, running between dance and karate – and picking up after the dog. I thought about Justin as I mounted new front brake rotors. Jeff’s probably bench pressing an automobile or a small truck by now.
Back country roads give way to the highway. I romp the loud pedal on the right just to hear the music of my V8 at high rpm. I’m slingshotted onto the highway like I’ve been smacked in the tail by the sledgehammer of God. Roof open in the dark. Loud exhaust note. Life is good.
Linda seems to be healing well but has a lot of discomfort. Barbara is still new at this. Victoria has been quiet. Tara is dealing with difficulty and may have taken a step backward. I say a four lane-wide, 80 mph, blacktop prayer that they are healed somehow. I want them fixed because being broken sucks.
I wonder if my Hemi powered, dual exhaust prayers mean anything. If I’m wrong I’ve wasted a puff of breath and some thinking. If I’m right…
Maybe.
If you posted your story, I probably read it and therefore I thought about you. There’s a whole list of people that I haven’t even written about here that I’ve thought about. I’m a heart Warrior. I’m not consumed by it, but it is part of my life and it will never go away.
If you wonder if what you post matters, it does. People read it. I read it. When you post you’re going in for surgery I think about you that day and I wait for you to post again. Just so I know, just so WE know you’re back. When you go dark I wonder if you’re ok. I wait to read something. Anything. A joke, a question, success or complaint. I wait.
I hate writing that. I hate writing that because it sounds like I’m a stalker. I’m not. I’m just different. I didn’t ask for this, I was handed it. I can blame it on the heart lung machine, I can blame it on the surgery, but no one knows for sure and few understand. The truth is it doesn’t matter. I’m a heart patient and nothing will change that. I look at things differently now.
The hour has flown by and the sun has risen and most people are just waking up. I get ready to go into work and figure out a way to prove that a bore is perfectly straight or that an axle runs true, or that something is located exactly where it is supposed to be, so the images can be made that make people’s lives better. So that the next generation of CAT scan tool will be less expensive yet present better images, so that a baggage scanner can self-detect explosive material without the operator having to find it, so that DNA can be determined more rapidly with higher accuracy. I’m back to my regular world, but when the time is right, I’ll think of each of you again; folks I’ve never met who’s stories have touched me.
Hard parts. Hard subjects.
I’m a heart Warrior and so are you. We’re stuck in this. You matter, so battle strong because somebody out there is waiting to hear from you.
As the crankshaft turns, the piston descends in the bore. Its downward motion creates a vacuum behind it drawing in fresh air through the carburetor. The fresh air is mixed with fuel at a ratio of about 14.7 to 1. This is stoichiometrically or scientifically correct for gasoline at idle, but in reality requires a little bit more fuel at all other engine loads for best power. The mixture is compressed, ignited, and burned to create downward force on the piston and thus motive power.
The spent exhaust gasses chuff out of my snowblower’s muffler into the freezing snowstorm air. The haze around me reminiscent of the air at a night club concert; poisonous to my heart and my cardiologist has warned me not to linger in it. I’m a bit too close as I kneel down to clear some driveway rocks. They risk damage to the snowblower, and I don’t need to be so foolhardy.
My hearing is protected from the rasp of small engine noise by my earbuds, yet I pound my eardrums with the mellifluous sound of Skillet. I’m not in my driveway, I’m in the neighbor’s. I’ve been fortunate to live next to him for many years. He’s active and healthy, but retired. I figure he’s worked his tail off for his lifetime, wouldn’t it be nice to be retired and look out the window and say, “Hey, the neighbor kid just cleared away the snowbank. I can get out in an emergency and the heavy stuff won’t freeze at the end near the street.”? So I clear the snowbank and clear out his cars.
The lyrics ring in my ears,
“I was lost and I was gone
I was almost dead inside
You and me against the world
It’s a beautiful night
It’s good to be alive”
It’s true. I was lost and I was gone. Almost dead, inside and out, but I’m here and standing in the midst of this New England snowstorm. It’s a beautiful night. The flakes drift down around me. Each unique. Glistening crystalline structures. Caught in the bright LED head lamps of my snowblower and the lights of the occasional plow truck. Beautiful and fleeting. Their brilliant geometry both temporary and conditional. I’m engulfed in the wonder of a storm, dazzled by swirling eddies of snowflakes careening around me as they spiral down to their resting places.
I was lost and I was gone. I built a life chasing a better career. I made large corporations more money, striving to build a better business life while neglecting my own. I was almost dead inside as they filled me with cardioplegia and stopped my heart and lungs to work on me. My brain activity being the only proof of life. I raced from task to task never living in the moment as I struggled to be what I was expected to be. My hobbies entertained, but didnt bring true joy. It’s a beautiful night. Alone in nature as the storm pounds the region. I watch the snow fall and realize I haven’t done this since I was a kid. What adult has time to watch the snow fall?
Tonight I make time.
I find a spark of energy in the music and look across the neighborhood. Ted and Carolyn are retired as well. I’ll clear the front of their drive too then I’ll call it quits, except Bill, down the street, is a military man and his truck is gone. His wife is home with a toddler and is snowed in and he won’t be able to park when he returns tomorrow.
I stop at home to fill up another tank of gas. There are other snowblowers running in the distance, but what is astounding is the next sound I hear. The sound of snow falling. I can hear it. A single flake makes no noise, but thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions falling about me make a faint crackling trickling sound. It’s faint, but if you’re still and quiet…
I put the fuel jug down and listen. I’m alive and I can hear it. You can’t hear snowflakes fall when you’re dead. I can hear it. The snowblower tinks and plinks as it cools. There’s a sizzle every now and then as warmed snow turns to water and drips onto hot exhaust flashing into steam and returning to atmosphere only to become flakes once again. The snowflakes make their sound. Holy crap! I can hear it.
Tonight I make time.
Soon I’m off and the last two driveways are cleared. It cost me time, but perhaps their tomorrows will be a little easier. I’m not a billionaire and it’s out of my grasp to build a spaceship. I won’t create a new media platform and I cannot fund societal changing innovations.
– But I can clear a driveway.
I can make time for a snowflake and I find a way to add one single step to my own activity. Can you imagine if just one half of the folks in my neighborhood did one extra thing for their neighbor? Just one thing. The result would be astounding.
All through my recovery I’ve had folks do one more thing. From the shift coordinator who stayed longer to bring me a breakfast snack during my 1st post OHS morning, to the visiting nurse who answered all my questions, stayed longer, and shared stories of her father’s ohs recovery, to every friend who delivered meals, stopped by, or sent messages, and my therapists who never laughed at my outrageous goals and dreams – but instead took me aside and made me feel special, then made a plan to continue fixing me long after our time was done. All of them did just one more unnecessary task. Took one more step. Somehow made time.
I type this with feet up and glass full of Apothic Dark. Earbuds out and playlist on pause. The warmth of the fire in striking contrast to the ice on my beard and the chill of my glass. The aroma of the lustrous red fills the air more pleasing than the exhaust of the snowblower. I’m sure my cardiologist would approve. My left elbow hurts care of a break at 5 years of age and my back is sore care of a motorcycle racing accident at 22. I have a list of injuries that would fill scrolls rather than Post-it notes. Perhaps I should have taken up coin collecting instead. Yes? No! These things bring me no regrets. They made me who I am. I’m sore, more sore than when I was a young man, and certainly more sore than had I taken fewer risks, but I’m not too sore to take another step. I am a heart patient, but I am not a sick heart patient. I was, but I have fought my way back and now I can take that extra step and be helpful to others and it is good.
No, I do not have the ability to start a media outlet and I cannot launch a satellite. I cannot cure cancer or even begin to figure out heart disease. I can do nothing monumental, but I can take one more step. I can clear a driveway for a neighbor. I can make time and I can be thankful to watch and listen to snowflakes falling.
I pushed down hard with my right foot and heard a snap. My foot rotated about 10 degrees. I know it was loud because something scurried in the brush next to the stream in my yard. I pushed off with the left and immediately felt for the pedal. It was right where it was supposed to be. No. It doesn’t always happen, but this time it worked perfectly. Don’t tell anyone. I push forward and down at the pedal and the left greets me with the same snap. I’m locked in and committed. My bicycle ride is underway.
It’s hot. 75 degrees at 6:00 am and it’s going to hit 90. It feels like 85% humidity. I’m traveling at 23 mph as I move through my neighborhood and the air is thick. At speed it feels like pea soup.
My lungs work hard as I climb my 1st hill. I wonder if everything is ok, or if I have a problem. I’m not breathing like normal. Do my lungs feel heavy? Am I feeling more winded than normal? Did I pack my nitroglycerin just in case? I’m a heart patient. I question everything. I even question when I’ll stop asking myself these questions. This is cycling for heart health.
One mile later and my body is in sync and adjusted to exertion. It’s easier now as the world whizzes by. An elderly man is walking his dog. He smiles and waves at me. I holler good morning. A mile later I pass an elderly man walking his dog. He smiles and waves at me. I holler good morning. Was that a glitch in the matrix? I laugh at my own joke. I wish someone was here to appreciate my humor.
The road rises and falls as it twists and turns. It’s getting hotter and it’s so humid sweating does little good to cool my body. Joggers are drenched in sweat. The last guy looked like he was dipped in baby oil. I like the ones running toward me. We can exchange greetings that way. The last woman had earbuds hard wired to her phone. I think to myself that it’s odd because everything is wireless these days. Funny.
Stopping brings a burning sensation to my back. The sun is trying to cook me. There’s no breeze, just the oppressive heat as the sun gets higher. I pass an older woman walking. She smiles and waves. I offer a “Good morning”, but I’m moving fast so I wonder if she heard me.
I catch up with a couple of cyclists and shout, “On your left” as I overtake them. “Beautiful morning” they holler back.
Beautiful morning. Yes.
A few miles later I’m overtaken by a woman on a beautiful Cervelo. “Morning,” she hollers. That thing is sweet, and she knows what she’s doing. She’s moving fast and smooth. Of course, I could pass her if I wasn’t a heart patient. I’m also probably a lot older. And it’s hot. Desert hot. And the sun is in my eyes. There was an earthquake, locusts, a Terrible Flood. It wasn’t my fault! I laugh at the excuses John Belushi threw out in the Blues Brothers. I’m noticing I make myself laugh a lot.
Laughing is good.
I work hard chasing Ms. Cervelo, and feel bad when we break off in different directions. I pass many other cyclists heading the other way. Some are tourers, some are racers, some are just cruising. Everyone greets me with a wave and a smile.
As I near home I pass a couple walking. They wave and offer “Good morning”. I think to myself isn’t it interesting? No one asked my political affiliation. No one asked my religion or my shoe size. Everyone smiled and offered pleasantries and warm greetings. Somehow none of the things that divide people on the internet and in person mattered. We all shared a common goal of bettering ourselves. We were dedicated enough to do this in the heat and humidity – be it walking, jogging, or bicycling. Somehow, we saw each other as part of a group, inclusive enough to appreciate one another without reservation. Courteous and cheerful.
A neighbor hollers “Good morning!” as I pass on my way into my development. I park my bike and check my data logger. I’m not winded. I’m not having difficulty breathing. There’s no chest pain. My heart is happy. I think to myself, “Good morning.”
