1987 was a terrible year for me, one of the worst in the past five decades.
Cathy and I were still embroiled in an ugly, seemingly never-ending custody battle, when my two partners pulled out of our successful business the business was so prejudiced that I was forced to close it, displacing a dozen workers, after which over the course of the year I lost two professional jobs through no fault of my own, and the housing co-op where I had lived for the previous three years had moved to evict me because, “you’re gay, you have AIDS, you’re gonna kill us all, and we want you gone!” — by the time 1988 rolled around, I was experiencing an ever deepening despair, gripped by a black depression that had me almost catatonic, and without hope.
I was also in the worst shape, physically, that I’d ever found myself in —eating poorly, and weighing in at an unhealthy 225 pounds.
When in February 1988 I was offered a teaching job at Vancouver Community College, I wasn’t sure I had the stamina to stand in front of a class 15 hours a week to teach courses in English Literature, and writing.
Linda, a friend who lived nearby (in the picture above), one day when I was over at her home, who was aware of my various travails, turned to me on that chill, overcast mid-winter afternoon, and said to me …
“I want you over at my house at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning with your best pair of runners, and dressed warmly. We’re going to turn your life around, get you fit, deal with Cathy and your children, and those assholes in your co-op. You’re starting a new job in two and a half months, you have EI coming in so you’re not hurting for money, and you’ve got the time to get yourself into shape — beginning at 9 a.m. tomorrow morning, sharp.”
The next morning at 9 a.m. sharp, I arrived at her home on West 2nd Avenue on the north side of the street just east of Waterloo Street. Linda put some coffee on, and we smoked a joint (“it’ll help you focus on your body, and what needs to be done”) and by 9:30 a.m. we were off, walking towards Jericho Beach, on the first leg of our walk along Spanish Banks.
I was so out of shape that by the time we reached Jericho Beach, I needed a 15-minute break, to sit down and catch my breath before continuing on the walk Linda had planned for us, to the end of Spanish Banks, just east of the forests of Pacific Spirit Park, and the University of British Columbia.
That first morning, I had to stop seven times on the way to the end of Spanish Banks, and seven times on the way back. A walk that should have taken us an hour or an hour and a half, instead took three hours — and I was wiped out. Upon arriving back at Linda’s house, she made us both a warming cup of coffee, and afterwards sent me home, saying, “I want you back here in two hours. We’re going to do the same thing again this afternoon, and every morning and afternoon until you’re in shape.”
I returned at 2:30 p.m. that afternoon and we were off again. This time we stopped only five times on the way to the end of the beach, and four times on the way back. It was raining outside, the skies dark and overcast. “Rain or shine, we’re going to be out here every day. Get your head around it!”
Linda was like a drill sergeant, “Head up, look over at the mountains, this is an exercise as much for your eyes and for your head as it is for your body. No looking down, ever.” By the end of the first week, I could walk to the end of the beach without stopping, the same on the way back. We would rest at the far west end of the Spanish Banks beach for 10 – 15 minutes before heading back, taking in the beauty of the nature around us.
During our walks we talked about everything.
Linda knew Cathy from our days living in the Interior — the first time they met one another, each took an immediate, visceral dislike to the other, which was odd given how similar their respective backgrounds were, and what strong, take charge personalities both possessed. Linda knew my children; she had a son the same age as my son, Jude, and had met Megan many times (Megan didn’t like Linda — again, a clash of personalities and will). Linda and I continued our walks and hikes, twice a day every day.
By the beginning of the second week of our walks, we were not only walking along the full length of Spanish Banks twice a day, Linda had added a twice daily hike through Pacific Spirit Park. The third week had us making a foray into Stanley Park, walking through the woods, and up the 45 degree embankment leading to Prospect Point. By mid-March, one month into our twice daily walking and hiking regimen, I had dropped 40 pounds, while consuming a satisfyingly substantial amount of healthy foods.
Linda had also added yoga as a feature of our walks, involving a great many stretching exercises. Between the twice daily walks, the hikes, the yoga, and my new healthy diet, by mid-April, I had lost 75 pounds and was down to a fit 150 pounds — I felt like Superman, stronger and healthier than I’d been since I was in high school twenty years previous. My depression? Gone. My ability to stand up for myself, and not allow myself to get pushed around, by circumstance or by some of the malcontents in my life (those who meant me ill), and ready to do battle with Cathy in the Courts? I was back. By mid-year, the custody battle was resolved, as was the battle with my co-op (the latter, which I’ll write about another day).
Photo, Broadway campus, Vancouver Community College, taken from Chinacreek Park
By the time classes at Vancouver Community College began at the beginning of May, I was me again — tough, strong-minded, confident, fit and healthy, and ready for whatever was coming my way … which, as I wrote two weeks ago, was love. In May, as the classes I taught were scheduled in the evening, Linda and I continued our walks during the day, with Lori and I walking in the late afternoon, once we were living together.
For the next three years, I continued my daily walks from my home to Jericho Beach and along Spanish Banks, leaving the hikes through Pacific Spirit and / or Stanley parks for the weekend. In two and a half months in 1988, Linda had trained my body such that it was as easy for me to power walk and hike 7 miles, as it is for most people to cross the street.
In 2017, after walking well over 400 miles in service of both Morgane Oger’s NDP campaign in Vancouver False Creek and David Eby’s campaign in Vancouver Point Grey, that summer — arising from a case of plantar fasciitis — for the first time in 29 years I did not keep up with my regimen of walking along the beach and through the woods of Pacific Spirit Park.
Still, I will never forget, and will always be grateful for, the gift Linda gave me of health and not just just the ability and willingness to leave my home to get out into the elements, but the pure joy I experience when walking along Spanish Banks or through Pacific Spirit Park, riding my bike, or otherwise engaging in healthy activity, a regimen that prevails to this day.
