Obstacles Are The Way

Issue #2

Exactly five years ago today, I had rebooted my run across America. 

Eight weeks prior, I was forced to return home after 13 days and only 371 miles of the 3,300 miles planned. I had a Grade 3 stress fracture on my right tibia.

Lucky and me June 4th, 2021

A lot had changed during my recovery period. The stress fracture was slowly mending, but my fitness had eroded. I had gained weight sitting on the couch. My son, who had been my crew chief, had moved on with life. Lucky, my canine soul mate, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And my 104-year-old grandmother, the beacon towards whom I was running, told me that she was tired and ready “to go to sleep.” 

But in those obstacles, I saw opportunities. 

Two months later, I was running again – slowly – in the Appalachian Mountains, refusing to let go of my dreams. My new crew chief was Chris, a Bronx-born restaurateur and private chef. Lucky’s cancer was in remission after a successful round of chemo. My shin was behaving. As long as we were moving, we were succeeding.

In the late afternoon, after covering 13 miles on foot, Chris, Lucky and I rode in the RV along a fire road from Gooch Gap to Springer Mountain, in order to recon the route, necessary as there was no cell signal. The road – if you can call it that – was pot-holed and narrow. But we bounced on, branches scraping the sides, rocks clanging the underbelly, the RV swaying unsteadily uphill. 

After three hellish hours, we returned to Gooch Gap, parked the RV and sighed with relief. We had made it intact. Only then did we notice that something was off inside our motorhome. Every corner of its interior, every nook and cranny, was covered in brown dust. The rear window had popped open during all that bouncing and the dirt we had kicked up on the fire road was now inside the RV. What a mess!

Panic, fatigue, frustration – that’s what I felt first. Then, slowly, acceptance, followed by my mantra: Focus on what you can do, not what you can’t. 

A few hours later, exhausted and ravenous after cleaning the entire RV, Chris and I laughed about the day’s events over his delicious lamb burgers. I cracked open a bottle of red but Chris stuck to his usual: kombucha.

That day – this day, five years ago – he told me his story.

A high school dropout, he survived an overdose at 13. By 16, he was living on a steady diet of amphetamines and alcohol. He went on to own a successful restaurant in Manhattan but by his mid-30s, he lost it all, including his marriage, to alcohol and substance abuse. At 38, he joined AA and has been sober for over 20 years. 

His obstacle became his strength.

My run across America was built on obstacles. 

There were mine, of course, as I battled challenging terrain, weather, fatigue and plenty more aches and pains. There was Lucky, too, for whom we had to find veterinary clinics each week, to deliver canine chemotherapy that would keep his cancer at bay. And, there were also the many strangers I met along the way – thru-hikers on the Appalachian Trail, small town residents, fellow U.S. crossers – who shared their tales of personal obstacles, losses, disappointments and blows. Each one of them had been buffeted by challenges but found a way forward.

And then, there was Grammy Clea, who had basically told me back in May 2021 that she was ready for the Big Sleep. Gulp.

The next day, I flew to her assisted living home in Sacramento, California, believing it would be my last chance to see her.  

Here’s an excerpt from my book, “Lucky: A True Story,” about that moment, sitting beside Grammy, her crooked-fingered hand in mine.

  It was hard to watch someone who has, for over a hundred years, radiated such sheer exuberance and strength, end up in such a vulnerable, weakened place. But what if the opposite were true? What if, actually, that vulnerability had given her the strength to go on? That May morning, she slowly straightened herself up in her reclining chair and asked me to fetch the local paper so that we could do the local word jumble together as she had missed the last few days. One small step at a time.

      I left thirty-six hours later after hearing her parting words. “Maybe I’m not that tired after all. Get going, David. Do what you love you most and I will see you here soon.” 

What stands in the way becomes the way. It always does.

Every challenge is an opportunity to create incredible experiences. Five years ago today, it was just the beginning for Lucky, Chris and me. 

And remember, even during the tough times, there will always be friends and family who are rooting for you. So, keep on keeping on, even when it’s a total pain in the ass. 

Hope to see you on the road.

Cheers,

David.

PS: Chris is still happily sober and serves as a sobriety coach for AA. 

Grammy Clea passed away on January 15th, 2022, two months shy of 105.

As for Lucky, sorry, no spoiler alerts. You’ll simply have to read his story, available here.