I effin' did it

Something like a badly broken leg forces you to reconsider your life goals. Instead of trying to hike the Haiku Stairs, a semi-gruelling trek of 3,992 stairs up a 2,800-foot lookout, it becomes the end of the block. And instead of leaping off a 35-foot cliff into crystal clear blue waters, the goal is getting up a flight of stairs without stopping.

Such is my life now, and it's a helluva lot more work than I was ever used to in the past. Before, I dashed along and bragged about how much faster I was than all of Toronto, leaving what felt like everyone in my dust. It didn't matter if it was silver tops or teens — life was a competition, and I had to always finish in first.

Life still is a competition, but now, it's against myself. Instead of racing other people on foot or on bike, my "test" is to keep going further on my crutches than I did the last time. And living downtown, with the reason being I wanted to be walking distance-close to everything, the goal was how to get around without relying on someone to drive me.

The big test came tonight, and I planned it out on the spur of the moment (as I am wont to do with many of my life goals). The distance? Just a bit east of Spadina on Queen, to home; a total distance of 650m. On foot, it'd be no problem and I'd consider it a good night if I did it in 4 minutes. On scooter, my only worry would be watching out for those crazy taxi drivers. But tonight — well, tonight was seeing if my triceps and good leg wouldn't scream at me so loud I couldn't ignore them.

Actually, scratch that. My goal was to drown out that muscle screaming and just move past it. Several months ago, I watched a climbing movie called Touching the Void. It documented the story of two climbers, Simon Yates and Joe Simpson. The pair were climbing Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes when Simpson broke his right leg on the descent, with the tibia crushing into his knee. Having experienced something like this, I can firsthandedly say the pain is excruciating. Each time the area is moved — never mind putting any weight on it — it feels like some invisible monster inside your leg is wrenching it around in a full circle, and bolts of pain flash up and down, down and up, and it's relentless for quite a while, even after you stop moving it.

Simpson made it down to base camp entirely on his own.

So, walking home tonight, I had him in my mind. I knew it was silly to compare his ordeal with a 650m walk home, but I remember his face during the movie. He kept telling himself to just focus on a landmark and give himself a time limit to get there, which is what I did. Blue telephone and then you get a break I told myself. And I did. Middle light in the middle of the parking light, and you can look at a couple of photos. I looked at some photos. Get to the end of the block and cross the street. There's a Toronto Hydro thingamajigy to sit on.

The walk would usually take me four or five minutes; I didn't time myself tonight, but I didn't have to.

I just did it, and that's all that matters.