Why am I doing this, “get in the shape of your life thing” anyway?  People must be saying, “Shouldn’t you be winding down?  After all you’re going to be sixty for God sakes”.  Well, for me this is a loaded question without a simple answer.   Not only am I willing to do whatever I can to fend of disease and forestall (hopefully forever) the need for a nursing home, but I also want a “do-over” of my childhood when I was a broken-hearted boy. 

You see, when I was born, I was a blue baby.  I literally had a broken heart.  There was a hole between the two chambers of my heart that caused it to be inefficient and not provide enough oxygenated blood to be pumped through my body hence I was blue.  Luckily, I was born at the exact right time in the right place.   Ground-breaking research was being done at the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto.   I was one of the first patients to undergo a procedure for a condition called Teratology of Fellot (Didn’t Pavarotti sing an aria from Teratology of Fellot?).  I was eight years old when I had the surgery and in the early days of the procedure the success rate wasn’t very good.  There were six patients to a room and kids would go off for their operation and never come back.  No one said anything.  At eight-years-old, I knew exactly what was happening.  I knew there was a good chance I wouldn’t survive.   

At the time I was obsessed with a book on the Seven Wonders of the World – Niagara Falls happened to make that list.  Co-incidentally, my parents took me to Niagara Falls just before the surgery as a distraction.  My imaginative mind put two and two together and decided they wanted me to see at least one of the World Wonders before I died.  Not only that but I can vividly recall the night before my surgery.  When visiting hours were over, I walked my parents to the elevator and watched as the doors closed and they disappeared for what I assumed would be the last time.  In those days parents weren’t allowed to stay overnight with a child.  There was no consideration given to the psychological impact on anyone – patient or parent.  I was alone and scared – I can’t imagine how my parents felt.

I’m one of the lucky ones.  The surgery was a complete success.   Not only did I survive the operation, but I have thrived ever since.  While my heart shows signs of repair, it has also adapted and changed to become more efficient despite all that’s happened to it.  While I’ve done well physically, the psychological hangover has lasted ever since.  I’m, understandably, paranoid about issues surrounding my heart but those are few and far between.  The real impact has been the feeling of being different, not good enough and not physically able.  Before the surgery I couldn’t be very active. I just didn’t have the stamina.  I can still feel myself doubled over gasping for air after the slightest exertion.  For a long time, post-surgery, I was monitored as to what I could and couldn’t do.  With a functioning heart I had the ability to do much more, but I certainly wasn’t allowed to play any contact sports.  This meant no hockey.  As a boy growing up in suburban Canada in the 1970’s – the height of Bobby Orr and Team Canada – not being able to play organized hockey was the greatest curse imaginable.  I might as well have born with a second head and six eyes.  Today it doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it was back then.  It impacted every aspect of my life.  It made me an easy target for bullies.  When the class would go public skating, I’d be by far the worst skater – always on my ankles.  No one ever wanted me on their road hockey or any other team.  And I certainly didn’t have the friendships my hockey playing school mates seem to have.  I felt like I couldn’t do anything, and this feeling dogged me for years.  

Fate has a way of intervening and one simple event can change the course of your life.  In the fall of my senior high school year, we were doing track and field in gym class.  It was a glorious day and our class fell during one of the main lunch periods.  The bleachers around the track were packed with students taking in the sunshine and eating their lunch.  I was running the dreaded 400.  Running anything was dreaded for me but the lung searing 400 was the worst.  I was in a heat with a bunch of guys who were known to be fast including the quarterback of the senior football team.  The whistle blew and we were off.  I assumed I’d once again take up last place but somehow, I found myself in the odd position of leading the group.  I led through the first turn and was waiting for them to overtake me, but it didn’t happen.  I felt strong and kept running.  As we rounded the last turn, I took a glance back.  Not only were they not coming for me, but they were well behind.  I dashed up the straight away toward the finish with what felt like every eye in the school on me.  I won the race.  Then to prove it wasn’t a fluke I won another.  Everyone, including me, was in disbelief.  Later people stopped me in the halls to comment on my win.  I had no explanation for it.  It wasn’t like I’d been training or anything.  The only thing I’d really done was work as a bus boy at a busy steakhouse.  That meant working fast by carrying heavy trays loaded with meals or dirty dishes.  Was that some sort of “Karate Kid – wax on-wax off” kind of fitness training?  I’ve no clue.  I do know that from that moment on things started to change.  I saw myself as someone who could do.  I saw myself as a runner and began to lead a much more active life.

There’s an old joke – what’s the definition of an average Canadian male?  It’s a guy in his mid-forties who plays pick up hockey and still thinks he has a chance of cracking the NHL.  I’m a version of that joke – I’m nearly sixty and I’m still trying to prove that I’m able to do almost anything and overcome that which haunts me.  But we all have ghosts of some sort, don’t we?  Some we bury, while others are destined to haunt us forever.  I manage my ghosts through an active lifestyle (hell I can outrun nearly any rogue spirit).  Staying fit and healthy allows me to do more, be more and give so much more so, why wouldn’t I strive to be in the best shape of my life regardless of age.  No, this broken-hearted boy is planning to keep on kickin’ (and running) for as long as possible.  Hey, I might even try to see the other six wonders of the world in the process.