I’m getting to be as bad as those aging rockers who keep saying this is our last tour… and then announce yet another.  Anyway, dear ones, blame it on Gayle since she left the door open and read on if you haven’t had quite enough of these ramblings.

Three years.  Three years ago.  A first for me that I always had hoped to avoid, that being a toboggan ride down the mountain courtesy of the Ski Patrol.  I remember thinking as I was loaded into the sled, hearing from others who had taken that ride, that it can be very bumpy and the jarring very painful, so I was rather apprehensive at the start.  After the first few minutes, I was surprised at how comfortable I felt…then we hit a few bumps….  Served as a quick reminder that my head wasn’t as firmly attached to the rest of my body as it’s supposed to be.

Gayle and I have been reminiscing these past few days about the events three years ago.  I’m not sure that reminiscing is exactly the right word as, to me, it implies looking back with a certain fondness that doesn’t really apply here yet perhaps there’s a tinge of it.  I’m not sure that fondness is the feeling I get as I relive those days.  We talked of all the things, little to not so little that went right that day after the one thing that went wrong.  Of our good fortune that good friends, Tina and Tory, heard about my accident, called Gayle when the Ski Patrol didn’t, and helped Gayle recover the car so she could make her way to Denver.  Of the snowstorm that turned into blue skies for her drive down the mountains.  The admitting clerk at St. Luke’s Hospital who, when Gayle learned she had gone to the wrong emergency room, called around to the other hospitals to find out where I had been taken.  And that immediate ray of hope that I could feel it when someone touched me even though I couldn’t move my arms or legs.

As some of you may have seen on Facebook, Dan and I got back out on skis again a few weeks ago, over at Afton Alps.  While the skiing was great for an early December day in Minnesota, one aspect that jumped out for me was breaking in a new pair of skis that were three seasons old.  Three years ago, COVID restrictions were easing, but not gone, I was looking forward to getting out on the slopes again.  Being a self-confessed ‘gearaholic’ (one of the reasons I work in a ski shop), I had some new gear to try out: new boots, a couple of pairs of new skis.  Now this winter arrives and I’m looking at my collections of boots and skis and it serves as a reminder of just how much my life has been changed and perhaps what I have lost.  Three years ago, with the COVID restrictions on the ski resorts, I purchased an Alpine Touring (AT) set-up: skis with specialized bindings and ‘hike-mode’ boots (AT is when you cross-country ski up the mountain then alpine ski down).  The boots I’ve worn twice.  My first day in them ended in an ambulance ride to St. Anthony Hospital and the start of this adventure.  The skis continue to gather dust in the garage.  Will I ever get them out and actually try some back-country skiing?  Or, like my road bikes, is it time to admit that it’s not going to happen and move on?

As Dan and I were skiing, unbeknownst to me, he was texting Gayle with updates on how well he thought I was skiing that day.  He also added that he thought I was ready to get back in the gates and start racing again.  When he shared that to me as we celebrated over a beer in the bar before we headed home, I laughed and said “yeah, your Mom might have a different opinion on that!”  And when I got home, Gayle showed me the texts with her simple but definitive answer: “No”.  Dan, as he so often does, simply said you let me work on Mom. 😊  For now, just getting back on skis is a good start.  With the race season starting up again, I look at my collection of race gear, like my other gear, gathering dust in the closet, and wonder if that’s also another chapter of my previous life that is closed.

As I reminisce about those first few days at the hospital, if again reminisce is the right word.  Perhaps ponder would be a better choice. I think again of the line from my favorite Jackson Browne song looking for the vision of paradise contained in the light of the past.  Of the vision/life I expected or hoped for, now caught in the light of the past, yet each morning to rise again and the distance leads me farther on even if the vision I once had now must be shaped by a new one.  Every day, sometimes if feels every minute, the reminders are still there in the neuropathy and spasticity.  Yet there is still light there and what shines on the past is also a chance to remember where I was and how far along this road I have already come.  And to once again be thankful for a gifted surgical team, for that precious millimeter that meant a bruised spinal cord rather than something more severe, the many nurses, PT’s and OT’s at St. Anthony’s, and my incredible care team at Craig and here at Courage Kenny.

I asked Gayle if she had any memories that immediately come to mind when thinking of those first few days.  Her reply was not so much of a moment or incident but more a feeling of love and support.  From family, friends and neighbors, from the wonderful words of encouragement in your comments on this site, to simple acts of kindness, like neighbor Mark getting the cargo box off the Subaru so Gayle could get the car into the parking ramp at the hospital.  As I go back and read through all these postings, the tears come readily, as they do with Gayle or as she puts it, we get all choked up.  There is immense gratitude for the prayers, love and support we have been given.  Thank you.  Three years on.  Two to three years to recover.  This may be as good as my recovery is going to get.  But don’t give up hope for improvement.  Days of bitterness, days of joy, days of frustrations, and many, many days of gratitude.

As always,

Take care.  Be safe.

Tim (& Gayle)