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Olympic Gold Medal

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He gave me a little smile and said, “I don’t know if you’re serious or not.”

“What? Of course I’m serious! As far as I’m concerned, we’re going to compete and probably win a gold medal at the next Winter Olympics.”

Then I gave my classic, disbelieving, shake of the head. I do this to show how offended I am when someone questions my intent. I use it often.

His wife said, “And that’s why your company is called Go Big Or Go Home?”

“Correct.”

I’ve only known him for 4 months. He’s a new client, 83 years old, with Parkinson’s. My job is to make him stronger. We’re getting there… slowly.

Pretty early on I added in this idea of the Olympics. Everyone needs a goal. Why not aim for an Olympic Gold medal?

I thought the two-man bobsled was our obvious sport. He said we should ski. I told him that is ridiculous since it’s a solo sport AND I don’t know how to ski. He just shrugged his shoulders.

I pushed for the bobsled idea. He said I was an idiot.

It is our on-going conversation.

I will not give up. We’re doing the bobsled.

“We can get Brad Fay to interview us. He’s the big Sportsnet Olympic host! He follows me on Twitter. We’ll be fantastic on TV.”

This comment gets a big smile. Maybe people just like Brad Fay?

At our next workout session he tells me I’m delusional.

Maybe I am.

But my history has told me that dreams do come true.

The trick is to aim high. Know what you want. Work hard. And throw in a little good karma.

Then sit back and appreciate the journey.

Many people spent this past week talking about Mohamed Ali. They spoke about his courage and how he battled against this debilitating disease. The grace in how he handled his decline.

I spend two hours a week with someone still waging the war. Every day he must fight to move. To me he’s a hero in how he handles himself with grace and a stubborn resilience. He does not give up and pushes when all hope is draining away. What more defines an Olympian than that?

I bet there are people all around you that are fighting. Some are winning, some are just hanging on.

And some are thinking about a gold medal.

Olympic Flame #2 (2)

Bikers Against Child Abuse

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This morning I woke up without an idea for today’s blog. After a couple of minutes looking at my Twitter feed the topic became obvious. My friends were back!

Trump and fires and where the rich are hiding their money can only divert our attention for a few news cycles.

Woody is back! Ghomeshi was taking up space near him! Even Facebook stepped up and asked if I wanted to be “friends” with the man that abused me. The day’s direction was clear.

I’ll write about a gang of bikers.

It’s shocking I’d never heard about these people before: The BACA, “Bikers Against Child Abusers.”

Why should I care?

I’m not a survivor of child abuse because I didn’t survive. I only cope. And that’s after years of counseling and growth. The abuse did give me the gift of empathy. Not only do I know what it’s like to be abused but I know what it’s like to not have anyone defend you. Not be listened to. Not be believed.

When I was still a teenager, my boss at the recording studio explained how he would kill my step-father for what he did to me. We laughed. His plan was hilarious. But more important, he was the first person that stepped up to defend me. He was going to make sure I was never hurt again. What a concept. What a gift.

These bikers from BACA do the same.

Once I heard about them I started reading the stories and watching their videos. I was happy to hear each and every one has to go through an extensive police check. They are vetted.

Then they defend the kids. They stand behind them, beside them and even in front of them. Day or night. Whatever it takes.

They look like a mean bunch but give themselves names like Scooter and Pooh Bear to be more kid-friendly.

I can’t even imagine what it would have been like to have them near me when I finally spoke up.

There is a chapter in Vancouver and it gave me great joy to read their mission statement,

Bikers Against Child Abuse (B.A.C.A.) exists with the intent to create a safer environment for abused children. We exist as a body of Bikers to empower children to not feel afraid of the world in which they live. We stand ready to lend support to our wounded friends….

They say more but I love that they end with:

We stand at the ready to shield these children from further abuse. We do not condone the use of violence or physical force in any manner, however, if circumstances arise such that we are the only obstacle preventing a child from further abuse, we stand ready to be that obstacle.

“They stand ready to be that obstacle.”  They would have protected me.

I only have two pictures of that time in my life.

This one is dark and I might be smiling. All I remember is my nights were filled with horror.

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I needed a Biker Gang to come and save me.

 

 

Tammy Moyer

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She annoyed me at times… she was often a little too perky.

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My clock radio would come on at 5am and there she was. Cheerful and happy and no matter what the weather or circumstance, she would find a bright angle to focus on.

She joked around and made a chatty conversation with everyone that joined her in the morning.

I’ll admit that there were days I hit the “off” button because I was too tired to jump into her positive world. I wanted to close my eyes and fall back. I didn’t want to be pulled into her happy place.

She was part of my every day and now she’s gone.

Tammy Moyer, the morning anchor at radio station News1130, died this past Friday.

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When I found out I cried. And that surprised me.

What happened at the radio station in the following days also surprised me.

I’m not a big fan of those overblown public memorials where people bring little candles and teddy bears. It seems rather silly. Yes, people have to grieve, but is that the best way to do it?

There are better ways to let someone know how you feel.

Tammy’s friends and co-workers had to announce on the air what had happened.

And they did it with class and a nod to the professionals that they are.

Tanya Fletcher’s noticeable struggle to get through that first Monday morning broadcast. Jim Bennie’s voice cracking as he introduced the segment on Tammy and saying “Here it goes… I’ll try to get through this…” The few tasteful clips they played included a message from Tammy’s family.  Many of her colleagues commented through Twitter. Ben Wilson’s tweets made me cry again.

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Then guess what… the world continued on and big news stories had to be covered and reported on.  These people put their grief aside and did their jobs.

Tammy would have been proud. And no doubt Tammy already knew how much they loved her.

My policy is to tell people how I feel about them before they die. If I have a favourite singer, store clerk, writer or even politician, I write them a letter or card to let them know how I feel while they are alive.

I never wrote to Tammy. What would I have said?

“I think you are just too happy at 5am.”