What (actually, whom) I am referring to is my Dad. If you know the Kroots, you know we have skied since it was physically possible - I started in 1991, before I was even 3 years old. We've had a condo up there for two decades. It's in our blood. So, when injury or, for my brother, college gets in the way it makes for a struggle of a winter. I, to be honest, have diverged from my crack-like addition to skiing that I once had. I think you get the picture, so let's get back to my Dad. Today was the first day since his diagnosis of Leukemia that he skied. He tried to muster up the strength a few times between rounds of chemo and spikes of energy in Spring 2011, but it sadly was not in the cards. Then it was time for the bone marrow transplant and skiing wasn't a thought in anyone's mind. I know it was still something he would never cease to yearn for, but the focus was on life itself - not the smaller things in life that make it what it is.
Fast forward to fall of 2011, ski season approaches but he's still on a small chemo regimen that hurts the energy levels, attention capacity, and some motivation. Also, my Dad has always been a BEAST when it comes to the cold - it does not effect him. But after his diagnosis, even if the temp in the house is much below 70F he might struggle a little.Thus he was quite reasonably concerned with completely freezing and being miserable. On December 9th, 2011 my Dad was up at Sugarloaf and had the plan to finally go ski. His legs were somewhat swollen from edema (which eventually got worse, leading to his very recent hospital stay), and he simply could not - despite all his effort - get his damn foot into his ski boot. It crushed him, I talked to him later that day and he didn't have to say that it hit him really deep; he didn't want to think something so simple could hurt him that much. It did. It was something he's been waiting more than a year for, something he loves and that makes him feel at home.
After the hospital stay, the swelling was reducing and he was feeling better. Just earlier this week he finally felt that he could focus and he mentally felt good for the first time in just about a year. Then the weekend came along, he wanted to go up to Sugarloaf mainly as a getaway to relaxed after getting out of the hospital last Saturday (8 days ago). My take: this was the weekend he truly wanted to ski, but he didn't want to externalize it for concern that his swelling was still too bad to ski. I'm sure he'll tell me if I'm full of crap or not once he sees this haha.
He said he'd go out today if he could get his boots on and the energy going. I got a text at 8:44AM "If I can get the boots on.......". He wished me luck in the Mid Winter Classic 10 Miler and I told him to keep it for himself. I finished the race/workout, turned on my phone and didn't see anything from him. Then at 11:32AM I got the text: "RAMDOWN TO WIFFLETREE!!!!!!!!"
He was clearly excited out of his mind that he took a run: not just any run, it was his own Run For Glory - far bigger than mine has even been and will ever be. We texted back and forth and then I tried calling him after I left the awards ceremony for the race, but he didn't pick up (thanks to Sugarloaf's miserable cell service) so I told him to call me. He called me after 1PM when I was at work, and just talking about being able to ski I could tell he was tearing up. My brother had told me it was the happiest he had heard my Dad in a long time, but hearing it for myself was something different. I was talking to him and hours after taking one single run at Sugarloaf he still seemed to be in shock from the experience. He really was happier than I had heard him in years. Literally, that's how big of a moment it was for him. I was exhilarated from hearing him explain it all, getting emotional about something that he would do 20 times in a single normal ski day.
It was pretty cool: he skied with Jimmy Cliffe, the guy who essentially taught Jase, Lex, and I how to ski, and they went up Sawduster. Then the choice was Double Runner (pretty short) or Whiffletree (much longer, but still basic terrain). They went Whiffletree. Then at the top of Whiffletree Jimmy turned right to go down the trail (green circle - easiest terrain). My Dad didn't go with him immediately so Jimmy looked back at him, wondering why he wasn't going with him. My Dad said "Let's go left" - which means but one thing...he wanted to hit up King Pine, where there is no easy terrain; it has more vertical, less grooming, and is a lot tougher than Whiffletree. Jimmy was shocked: he was looking at this guy who had been crushed by chemotherapy, irradiated to the point of being dropped to nothing, had a bone marrow transplant, struggled all fall, and then just gotten out of the hospital a mere eight (yes, 8) days ago - and that very same person who had been through the ringer was suggesting to hit up King Pine. Naturally, Jimmy went with it. As it is clear my Dad does not budge - Leukemia didn't stop him. Just being there already made his year. They headed to King Pine, took the chair up, and then it was go time...
...and he loved every last minute, every last inch of that run.
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| The Big Guy - my budbud - just after tearing it up at The Loaf: 2/5/2012. |
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