The Stories.....

After all of these months the of planning, preparing and talking about Kokoda we’re down to the last week before departure so I guess the official countdown is on!   Countdown – what a funny word that is.  So many different forms, some good – thrilling you with the sense of adventure, teasing you with visions of enjoyment and wonder, while others linger in the recesses of your mind, dwelling on the fringes ready to pounce at a moment’s notice when you’re least expecting it and ultimately casting a grey cloud over your mood. 

As I reflect on this I remember sitting with dad in the Ballarat Base hospital just a year ago, just before he started his intensive radiation and chemotherapy treatments.   The diagnosis had been bad from day one……”days at most said the surgeon”, perhaps months if he undergoes intensive radiation and chemotherapy said the lead Oncologist, but both agreed it would be just a short time.

Having lived in Canada for many years, and visiting every few years before his diagnosis, I could feel the distance between us as I stood in his hospital room.  The stilted and somewhat desperate attempt at a conversation, often met with dads simple but short answers and which never led to a “real conversation”.  Neither of us knew what to say……   I do this for a living I thought to myself, surely I can get my own father to have a conversation with me, but no matter how much I tired the less I got from him.   

One day as we sat shrouded in the silence I asked “what are the strongest memories you have from growing up?” thinking that he’ll have to give me something………surely, anything would be a blessing…..well, as I was about to find out……not so much!

He didn’t answer for a long while, so I thought perhaps he hadn’t heard.   I guess he was reflecting on his life and so tentatively at first, but he began to tell me the story of when his dad had died……crap I thought; clearly this was not what I had hoped this question would bring out.  I nodded, not wanting to commit to where this conversation was going, tensing internally as he spoke.

But he persisted and I listened to the slow and deliberate sentences as they pieced together the story in much finer detail than I’d ever known.   He told me that when he was 12 years old (1944 for those following along at home) the second world war at its peak, rationing was still a part of everyday life in Australia and that his father had fallen deathly ill, diagnosed with miner’s lung.   This was a very serious illness, especially given that penicillin had just been discovered and that all efforts were focused on the war effort rather than disease research and so this diagnosis was a virtual death sentence.  Australia, like most countries didn’t have a social security program in place and it became fairly obvious that they were now going to have to fend for themselves with no support.  Dad being the eldest child still at home (his older brother had lowered his age to get into the army at 17 and had been recently shipped overseas).  

His mother made it blatantly clear to him that he was now responsible for supporting the family (his mum plus three younger siblings) so at 12 years old he left school.  Listening to this story was one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life, but I sat there and listened – completely choked up inside, knuckles white and barely breathing.  What ran through my mind as I left the hospital that afternoon was “be careful what you wish for lad”, you’re crazy thinking that stories would make a difference.  

Dad with a Carpet snake (python) that he'd captured
in the Queensland cane fields.  (Australia circa 1951)

A couple of days later as the afternoon sun bathed the hospital room in a beautiful warm pink light we were sitting there, in our familiar spots…… feeling awkward once again, me having somewhat recovered from our last “conversation”.  This time it was dad who spoke first, “did I ever tell you about when I first went to Queensland”.   I knew as a kid that dad had worked in Queensland mostly in the sugar cane fields but not the stories that went with it.  And so for the remainder of that afternoon his eyes shone and I could hear the laughter in his voice, see the smile on his lips as he regaled me with stories of his adventures as a young man in the wilds of Queensland during the early 1950’s. I don’t think I said another word for the afternoon, but if laughter counts then I talked plenty.   Encouraged by this turn of events I was desperate for more stories – each day I fronted up to the hospital, hopeful that he would once again start with the refrain “did I ever tell you about the time……”  Over the ensuing weeks dad became a surprisingly willing and colorful story teller, me perched by his bed hanging onto these stories like diamonds – precious and exotic!  

But in the back of my mind the countdown was on, no matter what I did it was always there ticking - ever louder and we both knew it……..   In reflection, these were very special moments, certainly memories to be treasured and remembered and passed onto my kids.   More and more I find myself smiling and saying to Zach and Sami “did I ever tell you about the time your pop was…..” 

One week to go but whose counting J

Why Kokoda?

For me growing up in a small country town in rural Australia during the 1960’s I was surrounded by the heroic stories of the Second World War.  Many of those stories were from the strange assortment of exotic locales that were talked about in hushed whispers – Singapore, New Guinea, Borneo and the “infamous Thai Burma railway”…..whatever that was.  It was all a bit confusing to a young lad who dreamt of adventure in far-away lands.  Quite often if I had accompanied my mum and dad to the local pub (remember these were the days of a bygone era with 6:00 pm closings, the “Ladies Lounge” – women weren’t allowed in the front bar, cigarette smoke so thick you couldn’t see the other end of the bar for the blue haze), you’d sometimes see an older guy (probably in his 40’s by then J……okay don’t start!) who got a little crazy and wild eyed after a few beers, ready to fight anyone but mostly with his inner demons.   More often than not he was a veteran and most of the others at the bar would give him a wide berth and try to calm him down, in general people would give him a break cos “they done it tough up there”.   Looking back, this was also the time when Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome (PTSS) wasn’t even part of our vocabulary let alone psyche.

It’s strange how those stories stuck with me, the strange wild eyed look of those men and what did “doing it tough” really mean?   God only knew…….. 

Fast forward to 1977 and my first year of college…… (Stick with me now).   My first year was spent in residence where I fortuitously ran into one - Craig Phillip Darrell in the hallway of my residence of all places late at night.   In fact after a couple of weeks of running into him on a pretty regular basis – he had been studying with his long time girlfriend and was now heading back to his residence, most nights close to 11:00 pm.   Some could say he was an avid student, however somehow I think it was more than regular study that brought him into our residence each night if you know what I mean ;).   We struck up a conversation and before you knew it we were both perched on the front seat of his 1967 Datsun Bluebird headed to Frangos for a burger and dim-sims, the conversation thick and fast.  Nothing has changed since then, the conversation is still constant, no matter what the physical distance between us, we are and will always be on the same wavelength.   This unexpected meeting and burger run has turned into a lifelong friendship and a story that brings me back to “why New Guinea?”   This is probably the most common question I get (at least 3 - 4 times per week on average)

It was mid January this year when I was back in Australia visiting my dad;  he was not doing great, the initial success we'd had with his brain cancer treatments was losing its effectiveness and time was beginning to get short.   I had come back to Canada for Christmas to be with my family whom I’d all but abandoned when dad got sick, spending the majority of the prior three months helping him through the initial diagnosis, during the day car pooling him to his radiation/chemotherapy sessions with my brother and sister, working at night to keep up at work albeit remotely and generally being with him each day trying to coax a conversation.  My dad was a man of a different era, a man of very few words that had a physical and mental toughness that I just can’t put into words.  
 
One afternoon as I was leaving the hospital my phone rang - it was Craig.   There was an edge to his voice as he told me that he’d heard that there was a trip to Kokoda coming up later in the year and that if we wanted to go we had to sign up today – no time for thinking, I need your answer now......... otherwise we’ll miss the chance.   Bloody hell, as you can imagine I was a little stunned at the immediacy of the request – he and I had talked on and off over the years about doing Kokoda, but nothing firm - just talk mind you.  

There was no time to check with Jodie and the kids, no time to really think about it.    My mind flooded with the memories of my childhood and those hushed and long forgotten stories, I thought of my dad who’d never had the opportunities to travel and see the world, I thought of his illness and what it had done to him and of the absolute randomness of his cancer.   Finally I thought of the adventure – sometimes life comes to you in unexpected ways and this was one on of them, my answer could be nothing but a “yes”.  

After our lifelong friendship what could be better - Craig and I tackling the track together, two mates ready to help each other survive the long punishing days of hiking this incredibly steep, wet, muddy path through the jungle they call the Kokoda Track, and nights content in the belief that this is what life is all about.

The downside of getting fit

Sure, sure everyone thinks that getting fitter and back in shape is a good thing……well from my perspective – “not so much!”   As crazy at it sounds the upcoming expedition to Papua New Guinea (that’s my new name for it, rather than hike or trek – sounds so much more exotic don’t you think) in a host of areas is far outstripping the wonderful karma that I’ve building throughout my training and fundraising activities.   I’m sure some of you are thinking “WTF?”  

TW at the end of his Sunday hike - all 25km

Now it could be me, but indulge me and let me fill you in on the downside for just a minute.  

Firstly none of my pants fit me anymore – clearly I was getting a little chubby (thanks for not mentioning it) so in actual fact going down about 3” in waist size is a killer, cos not only does the waist not fit, but neither does the bum……just call me “baggy britches”.   So our friends at Harry Rosen, Banana Republic and assorted other stores have been happily taking my hard earned cash for more form fitting attire of recent weeks.   It’s funny how they always save that extra big and special smile for me as I traipse into the store yet again.

The second reason getting fit isn’t a good thing:  the amount of time I’ve been spending each week - on average about 8 hours per week of exercising, either hiking with my pack on my Sunday morning walks around Toronto, at the gym doing my weights routine or perhaps with Horace “the Mighty” Hunter (shredding me with those dastardly 2.5Ib torture devices he calls “hand weights”).   It’s a lot of time I could be putting to good use, let me see…..sleeping in till a sensible hour, even 6:30 am…..yes, that’s sleeping in folks.   Normally I’m up and either walking or working out around 5:30 at a minimum of five + days per week.   Let’s call this sleep deprivation shall we.

How about this one?   I mentioned to Horace that my left knee was sore at the joint during one of our infamous stretching episodes; quick as a flash he said that perhaps I need orthotics for my shoes.   As you can imagine I’m already way ahead of him and thinking of at least 10 reasons why I actually don’t need orthotics…….but there it is, the famous Horace smile.    “Fine” I’ll go and get it checked out I mutter almost imperceptibly.   The man has a steel trap for a memory as well – so two days later while on the mat stretching after yet another one of his killer workouts he asks innocently enough “so what did you find out about your knee?”  All I can do is grin sheepishly and try and weasel out of a response, all sorts of excuses, clearly he can see through this thinly veiled ruse…….”then don’t complain about it when we stretch if you’re not going to do anything about it”.   Wow, such a hard man!  

That morning in the car heading to work Jodie asks about the workout, and I fill her in on what Horace “the horrible” said to me.   She said go and make an appointment to see my Chiropractor she awesome, it’s downstairs in the concourse she says staring at me with that winning smiling.   Sure enough between Horace’s guilt and Jodie’s coaxing I decide to nip downstairs to grab my morning Starbucks and as I exit the escalator (lazy man that I am) there's the clinic just steps away….do I flee or do I man up and make an appointment (yes, you can see where this is going – it was a close thing I’ve got to tell you!) 

Next morning in my initial exam the doctor asks me about my activity level etc as part of my health history, I then go onto bore the living sh..t out of her about my upcoming expedition to New Guinea.  Instead of her rolling her eyes, her eyes light up as she tells me about her hiking in Newfoundland over the summer at Gros Morne National Park.  You see Dr Cynthia Chan is not just any Chiropractor she’s also an avid hiker!  

And yes she did recommend Orthotics…….bugger!    I must admit the knee feels better – thanks for asking, but my Achilles is now in serious spasm.  Just one more thing to adjust to – see I told you getting fit wasn’t good for you.

Damn that Horace J - he was right again!

The Early Morning Stretching Fiasco

If you believe that laughing to the point of hurting is a sign of an excellent workout then I have been blessed with three excellent workouts so far with my Boxing coach – Horace “the Mighty” Hunter.  

At 5:50 am he and I are both a little punchy (forgive the pun!)…..it’s just so early that I’m just trying to clear the sleep from my foggy head, let alone have any real coherent function.    Double that with a severe case of Bronchitis (not me but Jodie my wife) hence I was sleeping on the couch last night as she coughed continuously throughout the night – even the medicine hadn’t had a chance to make any real difference, so I decided that if I was going to (1) avoid any residual germs (2) actually try and sleep - I had better make the move to the couch.   So when the alarm went off this morning I was in denial…..how could it possibly be 5:30am already, I just put my head down.   The word “crap!” floated through my psyche.

Sure enough at 5:50am there was Horace’s smiling face at the door…….me, not so much.   Still stiff and sore from his last workout last Friday I gingerly hobbled down the stairs to the basement with my hands firmly on the handrails to steady myself.  Strange isn’t it, because in between our last workout and today I had completed my 25km hike with my 50Ib pack and actually felt pretty good afterwards, perhaps it was the couch I thought fleetingly?   

So when Horace put down his bag, eyeing me suspiciously asked, “So how many times did you do the stretches I gave you on Friday?”   I didn’t have a leg to stand on (figuratively) so I came clean straight up and said that I actually had ignored his sage advice and taken my own – stretching’s for sissy’s!   There I said it…..out loud no less.  To stop the punishment that was coming to me (this I didn’t know at the time – although engaging the mouth before the brain is always an infinitely bad idea), I should have just said that I had forgotten or something to that affect, instead Horace just smiled, handed me the skipping rope and turned on the round timer.

Three, three minutes rounds later (my warm up - with a 30 second respite in between) and me now unable to utter a word because my breathing was so labored; Horace announced that he agreed with me that we shouldn’t do any sissy stuff therefore; hence forth he had decided to “train for real” – whatever that meant?  Train for real…..what have we been doing?   I was about to find out, the hard way.

 As soon as he said it a veil of despair descended upon me as he grinned and held out the 2.5lb dumbbells.   Man – they were so small, no worries…..I got this I thought to myself, I’ll show him “train for real”.   Wow, this was all he had at “turning up the heat”, now who was laughing?  

Clearly not me as the next three rounds consisted of me doing a series of 10 meter sprints, interspersed with shadow sparring with the dumbbells – arms at shoulder height for 20 sec, arms at 45 degrees for 20 sec, “doing the Russian” – combo of jogging on the spot while shadow sparring with these weights……well, you get the picture.   I think we can all agree that those innocuous little 2.5 dumbbells are true things of torture!

We stopped, albeit briefly to wrap my hands in preparation for the sparring with gloves but by this time I was almost done in, sweat pouring off me in rivers - Horace just went about the business of wrapping my hands for more torture.   My hands finally wrapped and the gloves on he set the timer once more for a series of rounds with me focusing on making contact with his pads – he quickly began to reel off combinations that he wanted me to follow, but as you can imagine by this time I was struggling to even make contact with the pads…..right then and there I committed to never tell Horace the truth about my training between our sessions.  

Who was I fooling, I’m really beginning to like my early morning sessions with Horace – we make each other laugh (mostly at my expense), but what a work out – I feel like a million bucks today!

Long Haul Training....one day at a time!

This morning was no different to all of the other training walks on a Sunday except for the fact that it was dark for the first two hours of my journey.   Certainly wasn’t as cold and therefore I didn’t need my hat or gloves to start this morning.   Still at 5:30 am there isn’t much happening, in fact it’s extremely quiet and peaceful and for most “normal” people they’re still tucked up in bed fitfully unaware that I’m getting ready to head out on my long hike day, all 25km of it around the city of Toronto.  

The past couple of days I’ve been reading a number of other blogs from people who have gone before me on the Kokoda Track hike, some wonderful narratives that make you feel part of the journey, and others that put the fear of god into me…..  

So I’m not sure if it was the last blog I read last yesterday morning in which everyone in the group had a bad case of vomiting and diarrhea for the majority of the trip or if because I had fasted all day yesterday for Yom Kippur and had overeaten at dinner, but by the time I got to bed last night my stomach was definitely “churning” – and not in a good way!    Hence I spent a very restless night back and forth to the toilet.    I can hear you now going ------ eeww, that’s gross!  

The kicker is that at 5:30 am when my alarm went off and I had to get up for my hike around the city it was the last thing I wanted to do…..trust me, the absolute last thing.   My stomach was still not feeling great; I had a pounding headache and felt exhausted from the broken sleep…..

Why did I tell you that rather un-appetizing story?   I guess because it is a lesson that I’m going to need when on the track in Papua.  I can guarantee you there will be days when my body will be stiff, sore, blistered and perhaps even afflicted with a stomach bug that I will have to be mentally tough enough to shoulder my pack and join the team as we break camp early in the morning.   I can almost see it in mind’s eye as we stare up at the mist covered razor back mountains before us and set out for the days hike along the track.   I’m going to have to be ready for the hard slog and keeping my resolve to take that first step each day, when I know that I’ll be climbing upwards for perhaps hours at a time, before summiting and then making my way down the other side on often slippery and treacherously steep terrain.   I’m going to have to be emotionally ready to do that for at least 10 days on end.

I know I’m going to be able to do it, and you know why?   Earlier this year when I was with my dad and he was undergoing intensive radiation and chemotherapy treatment for his brain cancer, he didn’t complain once…….not once, he didn’t feel sorry for himself.    Nope, each day he got up and looked up at that mountain before him and gritted his teeth, shouldered his pack took that first step towards the peak.    And that is precisely the way I’m going to approach it – with a steely resolve to make it and learn to thrive in that hostile climate and environment.    One day at a time…..  

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving!

Week One of Boxing/Cardio Training.....my impressions so far

With a month to go till I leave to hike the Kokoda track in Papua New Guinea it seemed as that I needed an added kick of intensity in my training to ensure that I wasn’t the “weakest link” in the group.  I suppose my concern is rooted in the fact that I’m not in Australia training with my team three days per week in the gym or hiking with the group each weekend.  

Then came Horace……    

 

TW & Horace - looking good at 5:50 am



Horace “the Mighty” Hunter is a professional boxer (Light Heavyweight) and both boxing and accredited fitness coach.   However, look past his boxing prowess for a moment and you’ll notice he’s so much more than a boxer; he was an accomplished track star in high school, highly sought after US College football prospect and Tae Kwon Do expert.  

This week Horace took me under his wing to begin my intensive boxing/cardio training in final preparation for New Guinea.  

Two sessions in and here’s my bodily state:

• Even with boxing wraps on my hands and using boxing gloves, my knuckles are completely shredded on my right hand.  I find it totally impossible to make a fist with either hand now and just forget about turning on a difficult tap in the sink
• Significant general body stiffness and pain…….pretty much in every muscle known to man, and some unknown ones as well J    "How on earth can man who walks like a 90 year old ever possibly consider going on a 100km hike and survive" - I'm sure that's what's going through the minds of the people I work with as they watch me gingerly waddle by

Yes - I'm full of complaining but actually love the challenge of testing my fitness each time I train, but I'm sure Horace will turn up the screws next session so I should be careful what I say.

Here's my new training regime:

·         Mon – Wed – Fri (5:50 – 6:50am) – Intensive boxing/cardio training with Horace

·         Sun (6:00am) – 25km hike around Toronto with 50Ib pack.   It takes me about 4 ¼ hours to complete the full 25km loop.

Am I totally crazy???     Feel free to comment.......steady - not too fast

Kokoda Preparation

Clearly I'm no author, but someone who simply wanted to make a difference and so I decided to turn something very negative into something more positive.  This blog is my attempt to take you on my journey - I promise you it won't be fancy, but it will give you a sense of what I've signed up for with my trek into New Guinea and all of your generous support by both your donations, but your words of encouragement throughout this challenging time for me and my family.

So, let's take a step back........as you know earlier this year my dad passed away from an aggressive form of Brain Cancer, and so rather than let it weigh heavily on my mind and take the passive approach to grieving his loss I decided to do the opposite, and for those who know me that's pretty much my approach to life.  I wanted to turn this around while challenging myself and with the help of the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation (thank you!) I decided to raise money as part of my trek.

Initially my goal was $5,000 but I reached that figure within 24 hours....so I increased the goal to $10,000 but to my surprise I reached that amount in less than a week.   So I set my sights on one final goal of $15,000, which I’m glad to say we successfully reached and surpassed a short while ago.  I feel very humbled by your support to me and this worthy cause. 

My challenge is to hike the Kokoda track in Papua New Guinea (Nov 7 - 18).   Depending on whom you ask, and indeed whether they even know about New Guinea let alone the Kokoda track is often a geography lesson in itself J    The Kokoda Track is arguably one of the most difficult and remote locations on the planet.   The walk starts in the village of Kokoda in the New Guinea central highlands – we fly in and land on the grass airstrip constructed during WWII.  We then begin our trek south over the Owen Stanley Ranges to the village of Owers Corner some 96km.   Unfortunately these 96km aren’t your average, everyday walk in the park; this hike takes us over a series of seemingly unsurmountable and awe inspiring razor back mountains, which with any luck we’ll complete in about 10 days. To give you a sense of the scale - Mount Bellamy is the highest peak at just over 7,000 above sea level, and for those of you who are Canadian - Whistler is just under 2,200 feet.   We're talking crazy high!

So I've been training for about 8 weeks and with about a month to go before I leave I decided that mountain training was essential.   So this past weekend I flew out to Vancouver and trained solidly on the "Grouse Grind" at Grouse Mountain, and over two days climbed it five times.   My fastest time was 1:05 and the slowest was 1:25......not too bad considering that I hadn't been training on mountains until this weekend, especially when you consider I was carrying a 50Ib pack. 

These are a couple of photos from my weekend of mountain training on the "Grind".   Tomorrow starts the additional phase of training, in addition to my hike training; I'm starting intensive cardio conditioning with a boxing coach starting at 5:30 am three times per week.

Stay tuned for more updates on my progress!

Always up.....does it ever end?

Grouse Grind - mid point