You may have already read the last of my posts, which went up last night. I reviewed the True grit and OCRA Inaugural 24 Hour Obstacle Enduro Race. It was a race of superhuman strength, both male and female. It was a race of determination, it was a race of ticker. It was a race of joy.
There’s a sub-phenomenon that is occurring within the phenomenon that is Australian Obstacle Racing. One that you should be aware of, and if you’re not already, you soon will be. This sub-phenomenon is called ‘Getting Chicked.”
A chicking involves a male racer being overtaken by a female racer. It is something which the ladies treasure, and take pride and pleasure in. It is something the men try to avoid at any cost. I’ve even heard of a bloke feigning injury to avoid a chicking he knew was coming to him sooner or later. What a rank amatuer!
Now I’m not going to talk about all the blokes who have been chicked, though I will include one of them in this yarn. That’s me.
I got chicked on the weekend.
I got chicked heaps.
And SHIT am I proud of it.
I am proud when I get chicked because it proves the chicker is awesome, and the chickee needs to train harder. I was lucky to be born a man. Let’s face it. We get better pay, more say on how society is run, we enjoy the lion’s share of the food, the senior roles in government and the corporate world, we are, on average, bigger and stronger (sometimes, not always) and we have to deal with less discrimination, harassment, physical and verbal abuse than the stronger sex does.
That’s right. Stronger.
I’ve witnessed my wife give birth to two children. Naturally. Without drugs. I would have been reaching for the pethidine before we even got to the hospital. I’ve seen my mother support my father through 30 years of illness, and stand strong as the winds of drug addiction, drought, flood and fire have buffeted our family back and forth. And yet still she is strong. It ain’t about how much you can lift, it’s about how much you can take.
The reason I am proud of this series of chickings that occurred over the weekend, a situation most blokes wouldn’t even discuss, is that I admire these chicks so much, and it is an honour to watch them chick me.
Leah Dansie did 10 laps for God’s sake. To look at her in civilian clothes, she is just a 5 foot 10 inch blonde bird. She looks like any other 5 foot ten inch blonde bird who looks after her body. But she ain’t. She did 110 kilometres and 300 obstacles over 24 hours. That is superhuman. She would have chicked me at least three or four times had I have done the event solo.
I don’t actually remember a chick going past me out on course. I only did two laps and I was moving pretty quick, so whatevs. But I got chicked alright. I know for a fact that Andrea Peebles chicked me a couple of times, because we started my second lap together, she watched me run (almost) flat stick into the barbed wire. I had to really dig both heels into the dirt and drop flat on my arse to avoid a serious maiming, but I DO know how to stop this big frame quick…when I need to.
We ran, we laughed, we joked, we ran. I would lose her in the hills or through the water, and then – after a short break yarning to a volunteer – I would put the gas down and, surprisingly, she would be out in front again. “How did I miss her run past me? Is she working with the Spartan Ninja,” I wondered. She knew when I was coming through though, because the way I get through races is to keep talking, to anyone and everyone I pass.
One of the volunteers claimed that I had an excess of energy. So I sang him a war cry from my St. Johns College Days. “Here’s to the man with the Big Red Nose. Hoo, Hah. Hoo, Hoo, Hah!”
So what? I’m an extrovert. I draw energy from other peoples’ energy. That’s why I could keep hitting the gas every time I saw Andrea Peebles, she is possibly the MOST positive person i saw out on the course. And there were plenty of positive people out on the course. I mean you don’t go and run 24 hours and 100kms with a negative frame of mind. It simply isn’t possible.
Speaking of getting chicked, there was team on course named Turbo Super Chicks. You’ll see a photo of them below:
The little pocket rocket on the left is Amanda Steidle, the brains behind www.turbosuperfoods.com . Anyone who has been in the obstacle racing game for a reasonable period of time, and knows anything about nutrition, is on her gear. It’s that good. She runs like the wind, is like a miniature Buddha, sipping on Turbo, and has a ‘finish line scream’ that puts a smile on everyones face.
Next comes Deanna Blegg. World’s Toughest Mudder. Supermum. Adventure Racer Extraordinaire. Survivor. Wise One. Legend.
Then comes Mel Curry’s husband (Do you notice there’s a bloke in the lineup?). Butcher, wholesaler, support crew to the incredible Mel Curry.
She’s the one who is blonde, in the middle. She’s about 34 years old in the shade, completed (maybe?) 8 laps, always had a smile on her face, and impressed the ‘spring chickens’ that make up Turbo Superchicks so much that they have dubbed her their hero. She has also given birth to and raised five children. Yes, 5. FIVE. And she ran 88 kilometres and conquered 240 obstacles. Impressive.
The comes Bronwyn Sparkes, a woman whom I had never met before last weekend, but I had been ‘friends’ with on Facebook for at least two years. She is lovely, she is beautiful, she is fit, she is fantastic. She was crook throughout the Enduro, but she soldiered on. She’s a Superchick, after all.
Then comes Kate Barsby. KB, the weapon. She is about as ocker as you can get in the female line of that species we call Australianus. She’s always calling me ‘champ’ and ‘matey’ and ‘bud’ and talking about how her mouth was as ‘dry as a dead dingoes donger on a dusty day in Darwin,’ when she was nearing the end of her lap. She’s alright, is KB.
And while I was never passed by a Turbo Superchick, I can guarantee that, had we started our laps at the same time, they would, indeed, have passed me. They would have chicked the SHIT out of me. Cause that is what they do. Not just in that they are fast and fit, they are graceful, they are dignified, they are classy.
I think that the definition of being chicked needs to include that, while a chick may overtake you, dominate you physically, and give you a bit of grief about it afterwards, they will never rub salt into the wounds. They will never go too far. They will never be crass, or ungracious, or boastful…as us blokes might have done.
That is why I am so proud to have been chicked. Over and over again.
So people have been asking me about my training, and it has been going well.
Terrific in fact.
The body is adoring the work I’m giving it, and my fitness has gone through the roof.
Every week I’m making massive progress, and it keeps startling me, and I mean startling me!
I’ve always been pretty fit, and I’ve always been good at pushing myself and working hard, but my fitness has massively improved in such a short period of time, it’s actually quite amazing.
Just tonight I went out mountain bike riding with Trevor Mullens (who I hadn’t ridden with in over 2 weeks.) I was feeling like I must’ve been slowing him down, and felt like I wasn’t going very hard (especially compared to last time we rode together – I was pushing HARD the whole time!) Trevor couldn’t stop telling me how well I was riding and that…
This past weekend I was privileged to be invited to participate in Australia’s first ever 24 hour obstacle endurance event. It was hosted by True Grit, Military Inspired Obstacle Course Races, and the Obstacle Course Racing Association of Australia, or OCRA. The location was at a place called Dargle Farm, in Lower Portland, which is on the Hawkesbury River in outer Sydney. The farm was maybe 1,000 acres of gorgeous Australian bush, or at least that is roughly the area that was utilised for the race course. It was hilly, at times treacherous, thickly wooded forest and some open plains littered with trees, watercourses, mud, mud and more mud.
The race started at 2pm on Saturday afternoon. A field of maybe 15-20 men and 10-15 women were running solo. They were planning to run as many of the 11 kilometre, 30 obstacle laps as possible, with as little rest as was sensible, over the following 24 hours. There were several each of the two person teams, three person teams and four person teams. Those teams which covered the most laps in the 24 hours would take out the honours of winning 1st, 2nd or 3rd place at the inaugural Australian Obstacle Enduro Championships.
For the first 6 hours of the race I decided to volunteer as a marshall on one of the obstacles. I was assigned obstacle 15, the ‘Jungle Vines’ – a series of ropes that were tied between the thick growing trees of the rainforest at the farthest outpost of the course from the festival area – where the start and finish line were located. And oh what a RAINforest it was. That afternoon and into the evening I would hazard a guess to say we got around 150 millimetres of rain, or six inches in the old measurements.
Jungle Vines was just past the halfway mark, and so it was a great place to view all the different competitors and assess how they were tracking from a fatigue, strength and morale perspective. I arrived on my post at around 3pm, an hour after the race started at 2pm. This was just in time to see the race leader, Lachlan Dansie, of the 2pm wave come through the course.
Lachlan, or Lockie, is arguably the strongest Ultra Endurance Obstacle Course Racer in Australia. That said, I would have loved it if he completed in the whole event. This because Jason Reardon, the eventual winner of the male solo 24 hour race, did just shy of twelve laps, or around 144 kilometres and 360 obstacles in 24 hours. It would have been a battle of epic proportions.
Despite there being 30 obstacles over 11kms – roughly one every 500 metres – to slow you down, Lockie still ran his first lap in just 1 hour and 3 minutes time. At the time he came past me, I was sheltering from the rain under a rock overhang, about 40 feet above among the rocks that towered over the track the competitors were running down. I shouted out, “Looking strong Lockie!” It didn’t scare or surprise him in the least, that a strange voice was emanating from high in the bush above his left shoulder. He just turned casually while still running, and said, “Thanks mate, see you next lap.”
He then did what all good, honest Obstacle Racers do, and went through the Jungle Vines obstacle with ease. It wasn’t a very hard obstacle after all.
The second placed competitor was only maybe three minutes behind Lockie, but rather than doing the honourable, honest thing and go through the ropes, he ran to the left and around them. This shortcut would have subtracted maybe 45 seconds to one minute from his overall lap time.
I’m disappointed to say that the third placed competitor did exactly the same thing, by which stage I had realised that many competitors might take the easy option unless I policed them. After that realisation, no one else took the easy option.
There was one more Dasie out on the course that day. Or at least she used to be a Dansie, before she became a Richardson. Leah Richardson was to eventually take out the Women’s 24 Hour Enduro 1st Place, but when I saw her, she was only on each of her first 4 or 5 laps. It was lap three, when she was first running in the dark, with a busted head lamp, that I spent a small amount of time with Leah. I mentioned that she was moving a lot slower than usual, and I hardly even noticed her until she was right on top of me. The emotion in her voice was raw, and plainly heard. “Oh Alex, I’m having a really shit time. This headlamp doesn’t work, I can’t see a thing, I keep kicking rocks and falling over. I don’t know how I’m going to keep going.”
That was NOT the Leah Richardson I know talking. That was someone who had had the bad fortune to take the wrong headlamp. “Just have my LED LENSER Leah. I’m not using it anyway. I’d prefer to stand in the dark when runners aren’t coming past. I can see better anyway.”
“No, you need it more than I do.” She said.
“What in the Lord’s name are you talking about. You are running. You are competing in the 24 Hour Enduro Race, I’m standing here making sure no one gets injured in the rain. Take the bloody thing!”
“Are you sure?” She says gain. This tells you what kind of person Leah is. She’s more concerned about a volunteer standing still in the dark than she is about her own safety running flat out in the dark. What a champion she is. 10 laps, 110 kilometres and 330 obstacles later she proved just what a champion she truly is.
I happened to be at the finish line when she crossed in victory. She was broken, her body only driven forward by the strength of her character, and the conviction that if she wanted to win, her mind would get her there. And get her there it did.
She fell to the ground once she crossed the timing mat, exclaiming, “THAT is the hardest thing I have ever done. I think I want to cry!”
“Cry then woman!” I shouted at her while laughing. “If ever you have earned the right to cry it is after ten bloody laps!”
Her husband was there, as he had been for the whole 24 hours, supporting her, consoling her, comforting her, ensuring she wasn’t hurt.
Then her incredible character shone through again. “It was just such a tough course. The only thing that kept me going was you, David, and all the volunteers and support in the pit when we finished a lap. It’s just been amazing. I was really doubting my ability to last the 24 hours on the third lap when my headlamp broke. I was tripping over, kicking rocks. And then Alex gave me his headlamp. It actually worked. It was just such an amazing feeling out there. Knowing every single person, competitor or volunteer, had your back. Especially when the going was tough.”
Given the length of the course and the number of competitors out on it at any one time, which was no more than 40 or 50, while I was at obstacle 15 as a volunteer there were long periods of time when I was alone in the bush waiting for the next racer to come through. I used this time to wander up and down the goat track we all ran on, to explore the bush on either side of the track, to sit in silence and listen to the beautiful birdsong all around me, to walk back up onto the ridge and blow smoke rings into the stillness of the evening (when it wasn’t raining) and to marvel at the beauty surrounding me as I was all alone and able to really absorb it. The sights and sounds, the taste of the clean, fresh air, the feel of the rain falling softly on your skin and the paperbark peeling softly off the trees, the smell of eucalyptus in the leaves, of the gentle rain falling, and of solitude. I could live there forever and be happy if I never saw another soul.
I also used this time to build a Blair Witch Project style structure just beside the running track and just before you entered the obstacle. I wish I had my phone with me when I went out there, maybe then I wouldn’t have lost it, and I would have taken some photos. It was a thing of beauty. It was somewhat freaky to begin with, reminiscent of the structures Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey find in True Detective. So to make it a little more welcoming, I added some ferns and colourful flowers to its peak. That did the trick.
I was relieved a few hours after dark when I was thoroughly soaked and so cold I couldn’t feel my feet or my hands, by Michael Aspinall. Mick is another elite Spartan Racer whose friendship has become something I genuinely value. Mick spent the next 13 hours out there, making my short stint of 6 or 7 seem like child’s play.
He also made the much maligned (by me and some of the other other 24 hour enduro competitors who had seen the finished product) decision to pull apart my Blair Witch structure and use the wood and ferns to build a barricade across the easy path around the obstacle. If only he weren’t so lazy – and looking to sleep in his chair under his umbrella through the night. I was awake for the whole time I was volunteering, just telling people they were not allowed to take the easy option. But Mick is so lazy he sometimes can’t be bothered undressing to sleep. So the barricade was a better option for him.
After a long walk out of the bush and a bumpy ride in the Land Rover back to the event area and start/finish line, I spent the next two or three hours in the pit. I tried to get some sleep at around midnight, my first in 42 hours, since I woke up on Thursday morning. That worked for all of 30 minutes.
I spent the following 3 hours around the campfire, getting ready to run and sorting through my gear, which was all over the shop in a tent I shared with my 3 other team mates and another team of 3, Blonde Ambition. Certainly the only way to describe the Pit Area, where all the team competitors had their tents and communal ‘living’ area for the 24 hours endurance of the race, was inspirational. The entrance to our tent was opposite the entrance to Team Turbo Superchicks. Arguably the strongest womens team on course that day, they chose to sleep through the night, and therefore didn’t place overall. One of their members, Amanda Steidle, the brains behind Healthy Mums, an online dieting and health advice service, and Turbo Superfoods, a pre and post race recovery powder, was my guardian angel for the 24 hours of the enduro race.
She loaned me $10 without my even asking her, after she heard me complaining about forgetting to bring cash for food. She loaned me a towel when I couldn’t find mine. She gave me fruit, soup and sausages when I was hungry. She sourced me Turbo when she heard I forgot my unopened bag, which she had delivered Express Post to arrive before I left home for the race.
This is what Obstacle Racing in Australia special. The camaraderie, the care, the compassion and the straight out AWESOMENESS of the people that make up the community. I could list 100 different times I experienced the same kind of love I did from Amanda, but I’ll already write too long an article, so it can wait.
As I was planning to run two laps back to back, I kitted up, got my wetsuit on, warmed up and readied for my first lap in the dark. Our race plan was this. Jonno Will would go out first at 2pm Saturday for one lap, followed by Rowena Murray for one (while the daylight remained), followed by Benny Mulley for two in the dark, Jonno for one, Rowena for one, then me for two (one dark, one light), Benny for one and then, if we had time, one last lap to finish.
By no means was this race plan going to secure us a podium finish, but we were only ever there to have a crack, and no one even cared for a medal. Maybe if we knew there was 2XU vouchers on offer we would have sung a different tune, but what the hey?
Jonno, Benny and Rowena had managed the course with aplomb. By no means was it easy, especially in the dark and under a heavy fog that descended around 2am, but they powered through without complaint, injury (much anyway, Benny busted his knee), or fanfare. They just GOT IT DONE. After all, we are The Battlers, and thats what we do, we battle until the job is done.
When it was my turn to run, I already knew enough of the course from what I had seen volunteering and heard from the other racers that I was as excited as I have ever been before a race. I donned Rowena’s warm little 2XU cap, my LED LENSER head lamp, my flashing strobe at the back , and I was away.
Because of the duration of the race, there wasn’t too much ‘racing’ going on apart from the first lap back at 2pm on Saturday. There was much more camaraderie, chatting to new and old friends, encouraging each other through obstacles and sharing stories of battles won and lost, than there was ‘racing.’ My first lap was a pleasure, even in the dark. From about ten minutes in, at roughly 4:10am, I heard a rooster crowing the dawn. As I was nearing the end of lap one, the sun was rising behind the clouds, bathing the scenery in a blueish light, the surreal look of the air and the bush exacerbated by the mist as it dissipated in the morning heat.
I was pacing another racer at this stage, and if he reads this he will remember me saying, “Of all the places I have been in the world, and all the bush I have seen anywhere else, nothing, and I mean NOTHING beats the beauty of the Australian Bush, especially at sunrise with the Kookaburras laughing.”
We had a laugh at how, every time we slipped on a bit of treacherous ground, or messed up an obstacle and landed on our arse, the ever watchful kookaburras would laugh. Cheeky devils.
Over the 30 obstacles, on the first lap at least, I didn’t feel anything was particularly difficult. There certainly wasn’t a lot of technical difficulty, nor that much physical difficulty. Even ‘ring the bell’ which was technically closed, was up against a rock wall, so you could use your legs to help propel you towards the bell. Unlike other events where the rope is suspended above water, and you need to rely on a leg lock and upper body strength, this one was easy.
There was a slightly more difficult cargo net climb, which had a solid metal bar at the top of a ten foot structure with cargo netting strung between the upper metal bar and side posts. This was the obstacle upon which one of the competitors suffered a possible spinal injury. Luckily, following careful monitoring by the medics and onsite doctor, a helicopter flight to hospital and testing, he was cleared of any significant injury. He shall live to race another day.
Hells yeah he will.
This was also technically closed through the night as a result of, and following, the suspected spinal injury. Understandably. That said, I couldn’t call myself an obstacle racer if I didn’t at least attempt all the obstacles, even in the dark, even if I wasn’t supposed to. I attempted them, overcame them, and was glad of it.
My first lap was completed in roughly an 1.75 hours, or 105 minutes, and my second in 120 minutes. The second lap was a joy. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, everything was visible, the volunteers were as chirpy as the birds to emerge from their long, dark, midnight vigils of 13 hours duration, and life was good. Never better. We were racing in God’s Country, with our friends all around and the end in sight.
I spent a lot of time chatting with 24 hour enduro competitors, amazed that they still had a smile on their face and cheerfulness in their voice. One of the female competitors in particular, Andrea Peebles, was as bright as a button. Little did I know that she was in second place overall, and would complete 9 laps before the day was out. She is a kiwi with a ticker of gold and the smile to match. Well done Andrea.
I was finished with my running by about 7:30am, and ready to warm up by the fire. I ate as much food as I could take on and waited for my teammates to finish their next laps. Jonno did his final and third lap, then Benny took off to finish for us, a fitting person to do so, as he was, after all, our fearless leader.
We finished last on the ladder of teams of four, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that we tested our bodies and minds, and they were not found wanting. We tested our strength of character, friendships, camaraderie, compassion, mental fortitude and sense of fun. None of them was found wanting.
While walking along the beachfront of a resort in Fiji, I noticed the same man raking coral each day. The beach was maybe one mile in length, and 30 feet in width between the rock wall that bordered the grounds of the resort, and the high tide mark.
Every morning, there he was. Starting at one end of the beach, raking one meter wide and 30 feet deep of coral off the sand. The coral would be piled up into a small pile, the small pile would be moved to become a bigger pile, and the big pile would be deposited back into the ocean. He worked from around 7am every morning until 3pm in the afternoon.
I introduced myself, saying “Al Brennan,” with a gentle tap on my chest.
“Erami Wanqa,” he replied, thumping himself forcefully on the heart.
I noticed he was missing at least four of his top, front teeth. “You are a boxer?” I asked.
“A leettle. Though when I was a young man, I did MANY bad things.” That was all the reference I ever heard of his checkered past.
While I was trying to think of how I might ask him, tactfully, what made him resolve to reform his bad ways, he simply turned his rake upside down, walked over to the freshly raked sand, which he had just cleaned of coral, and wrote one word in the sand.
Little did I know that enlightenment, in the form of a deep and resounding faith in The Lord, was about to be revealed. In the most unlikely of places.
In Erami Wanqa’s words, in Erami Wanqa’s mind, and in Erami Wanqa’s heart.
Intrigued by this strange, toothless, middle aged Fijian, who was built like a brick shit house, and was doing work as humble as any I had seen before, or after, I asked him to explain.
“J is for Ji-ova. The one God that rrrules above us all. All of those HERE on dis earth, who believe in Ji-ova, shall be saved.”
I is for Imanuli. The second Son of God, who came down from above to walk among those of us on earth, and offer us the SALvation.
“S is for Sitiko. ‘She Who Walks Among Us.’ She walks among us, who walk upon DIS earth, and fills us with the knowledge of Ji-ova’s second coming.
U is for Uluvatu. The RRROCK! The RRROCK shall come down to DIS earth, at the end of or time OUR time, to DIStroy us all, to DIStroy the peoples, and to DIStroy all that we know. The only people, who shall be saved, are those who are under the ground, and who believed when they walked above. For they believe still. Also, those of us who walk above the ground when Uluvatu comes down to DIStroy dis Earth, we shall also be DIStroyed, but we shall then RRRISE up with Sitiko, with Imanuli, and with Ji-ova.”
I couldn’t really muster a response to this prophecy, so I just nodded my head and tried to process the power with which Erami Wanqa had voiced his convictions.
“Do YOU know…Saddam Hussein?” He asked.
“Yes, I know who Saddam is. Or was.” My reply inevitable came.
“Do you know WHY Saddam Hussein was DIStroyed?”
“I think so?” I replied, thinking “He was silly enough to challenge the military might of the worlds number one superpower, The United States of America.”
“Do you know where Saddam Hussein Lives?” Erami asked another probing question.
“Yes, he lived in Iraq.”
“And do you know what is in Iraq?” Erami asked.
“Yes.” I answered rather smugly, “There was a lot of sand, war and different tribes of Muslims trying of kill each other.”
“No.” Was his emphatic response.
“BABYLON!” He cried, waving his chunky finger in my face.
“BABYLON was in Iraq. And it is because Saddam Hussein tried to RRREBUILD Babylon that the Eagle, Te United States of America, DIStroy Iraq, DIStroy Saddam Hussein, and DIStroy his people.”
“And WHEN Uluvatu shall coime down in FURY, to DIStroy the Eagle, he shall also DIStroy this earth, and DIStroy all of the unbelievers!!!”
Enlightenment, in the form of unshakeable faith, shows up in the most unlikely of places.
I just walked out onto our back deck and looked out over the valley of New Lambton Heights, NSW, Australia, looking onto Elermore Vale. There is a large rainstorm headed south from Queensland, but the calm before the storm, the hot winter sunshine, is amazing. I blew a great, fat smoke ring into the sun, watched it float away, and thought of Timmy.
Timmy was from Cobar, a remote country town in the desert of North Western NSW, about 3 hours drive from Warren, which is on the Central Western Slopes and Plains of NSW, where I grew up. He was one of my best mates at High School. He once, shortly after we were all busted smoking in year 12, blew a fat, luscious smoke ring into the face of the boarding master who busted us, and then calmly and casually stubbed his cigarette out. Walking away without expression from the $50 fine he had just received.
He moved back to Cobar after year 12, got a job at the Toyota Dealership as a mechanic, and played rugby union for Cobar. He was the hardest, toughest, most unassuming flanker that played for Cobar first grade since his father, Kevin, played for them 30 years earlier.
He fell in love with a woman who had a child, had two more with her, and suffered form serious and deeply rooted depression. He was always depressed, in a sense, when I look back upon our schooling together. He just didn’t smile all that often. Maybe he missed the open spaces and freedom of his 50,000 acres of arid farmland in Cobar? Maybe his Mum, Gwen, and his Dad, Kevin? Maybe his little sisters?
I’ll never know.
When he moved home, he won best forward, best and fairest, best bloke at the rugby club, just cause of who he was. Unassuming, quiet, but as hard as fucking nails.
Despite all of the apparent success, his awards at Toyota, his return to the bosom of his family, his wife and children, one night ten years ago, he hung himself from the garage rafters.
He had asked his rugby mate to stay for “Just one more VB.” But as his mate couldn’t drink as much as Timmy could, nor did he want to, he said no, and stumbled home.
Timmy’s Dad found him hanging in the garage the next morning.
The horror is unimaginable. But Kevin and Gwen soldier on today, through droughts and loods, good years and bad, carrying the weight of survivors guilt with them everywhere they go. Like a lead chain hung from their necks. His sisters too. And his ex. And his children, one would assume.
When I was in the depths of depression, when I saw ropes hanging from trees, sharp knives in the kitchen drawer, when I was cooking and thought, “one hard slash and it could all be over.” I thought of Timmy. I thought of the grief, the pain, the anguish that his loved ones, me included, carried with them.
I know why he was compelled to make that choice. I know why he did it. I even wanted to do it myself. But I didn’t. Thanks to Timmy. He taught me that there are other options. There is the choice of life. There is the choice of communication. There is the choice of hospitalization. There is the choice of recovery.
Thank you Timmy. I have never had anything but respect and love for you my dear, departed friend. If not for your suicide, I may have left my loved ones, my wife, my children, my parents, my siblings, my friends, and joined you earlier than intended.
Thanks mate. You are all right in my book. Always were. Always will be.