Life and death

This weekend has made me think a lot about how close I came to dying when I was run over by the semi-trailer and how lucky I am to be here.

Yesterday, we attended the funeral of my wife Carleen's uncle, Les Murphy. He was a good, gentle and generous man and it was a great pleasure to have known him. He will be missed by all who knew him. Les died at the age of 78 of an aneurysm, a health problem that he had been battling for the last 14 years. Carleen was very distraught at the funeral and all of a sudden I was transported to a place that felt quite uncomfortable. Seeing Carleen so upset made me imagine how it would have been for her had I died on that road in Melbourne that August morning in 2001 or perhaps in the week after as a massive infection engulfed my system. I could not appreciate how painful that would have been for her, especially as Carleen was 10 weeks pregnant with James at the time, but the grief that she displayed for her Uncle Les gave me an insight that I had not had before.

Today there were also several reminders for me of our vulnerability as a cyclist. I was cycling with Ross Gamble, a family friend of Carleen's and a veteran of 40 years of cycling and a man whom is still very fit, and James Brundell, whom has begun cycling and running with me regularly over the last few weeks. Ross's son, Chris, was almost killed in an accident involving a large truck that was very similar to mine just a few years prior to my accident and (as I mentioned in an earlier blog) James himself was knocked from his bike and seriously injured six years ago. So I was in the presence of two people that had either directly or indirectly experienced the aftermath of a near fatal cycling accident. So my mind was already predisposed to thoughts of the fragility of life on the road as a cyclist and Ross and I discussed it on a couple of occasions as we pedalled our way to Aramoana. So when a couple of logging trucks passed each other going in opposite directions right beside us heading home from Port Chalmers, my heart was in my mouth and I was braced for the worst possible outcome. In the end, the danger wasn't real as the drivers were both aware enough to give us sufficient room, but it didn't stop a morbid fear pulsing through my veins momentarily. (The most horrifying sound in the world for me is the sound of truck rumbling up behind me on the right hand side as I am pedalling along the road.)

The flipside to all of this was some sublime moments that make you appreciate being alive and reminders that we should all live life to the full. As we crested the brow of Upper Junction Road we were greeted by the view of the glistening waters of the Otago Harbour as they shimmered in the early morning sun. Everything was perfectly still and the warmth of the sun as we emerged from the cold shadows of the valley seemed to fill me with an immense energy. It was one of those intoxicating, yet fleeting moments that almost takes your breath away. Later we arrived at Aramoana to the sight of the gentlest of waves pulsing into the beach, not a breath of wind and the fresh smell of the ocean air; another mesmorising moment. There were also times as we sped along the road between Careys Bay and Aramoana when the here and now disappeared and I felt at one with my bike - the classical experience of flow, for those academics amongst us.

Ross and I also discussed how his daughter, Di, is coping with the recent news that she has an inoperable tumor on her lungs and how the power of the mind is a truly amazing thing. Di is taking an extemely positive approach and just getting on with life, grabbing everything with both hands to maximise the positive and minimising the negative. As I pointed out to Ross, over a cuppa after our ride, if I learnt one thing from my time in hospital it was that there are two types of people in life: those who are survivors and those who are victims. The latter will always find someone else to blame, always want someone else to fix it and never be fully satisfied with their lot. Survivors take all that is thrown at them and, with grit and determination, battle their way through and more often than not come out the other side stronger and more powerful than before. Di is one such person, James is too, as was Les. I am trying to live the life of a survivor and Challenge Wanaka is one of those things that I am doing to express this - well, I'm going to give it a bloody good nudge anyway.